Not Broken, Just Bent
by revolutionsoftheheart
Summary: All it takes is one moment for your life to spin off-axis, for your world to collapse, for everything you knew to become unfamiliar. Stomachs burning with the guilt of different burdens to bear, Robin and Regina find that this is one of those moments. Outlaw Queen - 'Mother' to post-season 4. (Small tw for infertility and Zelena/Robin non-con - not graphic.)
1. Chapter 1

All it takes is one moment.

One simple moment and your life can be irreparably damaged, altered by a single motion. The flap of a bird's wings, the tree leaves dancing with the breeze, the clouds obscuring the sky, casting shadows above and beyond, heavy, angry tears pelting the ground, a tidal wave crashing on land.

And you, standing at the shore.

One moment is all it takes for your life to spin off-axis, for your world to collapse, the fluctuations in the ether too substantial to be contained.

It's impossible to navigate, readings are off the charts, and try as you may, you cannot make sense of it. Reality has crumbled to dust around you, evaporated before you could hold on to it, and you wish you'd have floated away with it. It would have been simple, maybe, comfortable, almost – familiar. Instead, you're left alone to pick up the pieces, to put back together the wreckage of your life.

(You're not really alone, but that doesn't sink in. Not yet. You feel lonelier than you've ever been. You crave something you can't have, something that doesn't exist anymore, lost in the darkness that now surrounds you.)

At the twilight of your existence, the one you've known until now, that one moment changes something at the very core of you, transforms the nature of your reality into a mess created for the pleasure of those who are never satisfied. Their laughs echo in your ear, an incessant shouting you are unable to block out.

This moment is one of them.

 **::**

The air around them is thick, the silence heavy and loud. Robin can hear it yelling in his ears when Regina's done ordering their drinks, the quiet screaming of a lie lived, of a farce created to make her suffer. He'd bet anything she hears it too, can tell from the way her shoulders stiffen and her gaze darts to the back wall, avoiding his.

It's overwhelming, this mix of joy at seeing her again and gripping pain at the deception he's suffered. One minute he'd been holding her in his arms, and the next she was staring at him with such anguish… He would never forget the look on her face. She'd looked at him as if he was a stranger, like he'd become a different man. (He supposes he has, in a way.)

He looks at her now, Regina, head held straight, lips pressed together, steadfast eyes studying the far wall, her face as void of emotions as she can make it. The hardened Queen, the one who always expects the worse, who thinks she deserves the worse.

She's trying to get a grip on her feelings, to rein them in, but she's haunted by his admission, his words echoing in her brain the same way hers are in his. He'd not wanted to believe her, had yelled at her because it was easier than admitting the truth, that he'd been manipulated, used in the most horrific ways. That he's been wrong this whole time. That he's hurt her _again_ , by adhering to his code, by putting his honour above all else.

Despite her best efforts to put on a face, he can still read her like a book. Her impassible demeanor is no great mask, not to him. He's spent a year deciphering it in the Enchanted Forest, has learned to value and cherish every single one of its imperfections. And he can tell her stomach is twisting and knotting before she even speaks.

"So you've moved on…" she voices out loud, as if it isn't already enough of a burden on him. There's an unmistakable venom to her monotone voice, a flake of anger that becomes evident when she adds, "with _her_."

After every bomb dropped on him in the last fifteen minutes, compassion is a hard feat for Robin, and the twinge of wrath in her tone sets him on edge. (Has it only been fifteen minutes? How long ago did they leave the apartment? He's lost track of time somewhere between Regina yelling at Marian and Zelena gloating at her sister.)

Words, harsher than he means them, tumble from his lips before he's had a chance to think them through, "That's not fair. You understood. You agreed."

"Understanding it and seeing it are different."

He hears her words, but doesn't listen, already moving on to the next worrying item on the list.

"That's hardly the most important point here." He's angry. At Zelena; at the world. (Not at Regina, not really, but she's here, right in front of him, and Zelena is upstairs. So Regina is the most logical target for his loose rage.) "My son!" he beseeches, his voice raising in time with the storming emotions inside him, like a lightning strike ricocheting through his body. "Zelena's not going to keep wearing that glamour. Roland's not gonna understand where his mother's gone!" He's been through it once, is familiar with the pain of losing Marian, but that doesn't ready him for it. "If I'm to lose her again–"

"A forgetting potion," Regina cuts in on his derailing thoughts, and suddenly – finally – he's listening to her. "Take him back to before the fake Marian showed up..."

Before Marian... when it was just Regina, him and Roland. When their lives were far simpler.

His heart clenches at the memory, an awful reminder of how times have changed. Was it only three months ago that he walked down the street with his boy and Regina after getting ice cream? That he believed he couldn't be happier than he was at that moment?

"He'll lose time, but… that's better, right?" she confirms.

She doesn't sound convinced, but he is. It's better. So much better than living with the pounding headache currently residing in his skull.

His "Yes. Thank you," is filled with relief that Roland won't have to experience the same thing.

Robin shouldn't be envious of his boy, but he is. There's a sharp pang of jealousy in his chest when he thinks that his son will be able to go on as if nothing happened. That he'll live his life without a clue as to how much his father screwed up. Robin would give anything to go back, too, but forgetting is not a solution for adults.

He brings a hand to his forehead, "God, poor Marian," lets it fall back to the counter again. "And Zelena… just killing her like she meant nothing, so she could play out this sad farce with us, I just– I wanna–" _punch her, strangle her, kill her – worse_.

He braces his hands against the counter, needing an anchor, something real, something tangible to prevent him from hurling objects across the room. He grips the edge of the counter tighter, knuckles turning white.

It's not working, not nearly, but he closes his eyes, breathes in, then out, uses his own self-control to try and calm down.

"But I can't," he sighs, shoulders sagging, fingers stretched and stiff, releasing their hold on the marble.

He's not above killing people. He's done it before, when it was necessary, but he's never killed an innocent. And he needs to remember that his… child, wanted or not, is blameless in this wretched mess.

He should have listened to his gut. "I mean– I knew that things didn't feel right, but I just didn't know why." His voice breaks on the last word. Just thinking about Marian – his very _dead_ Marian – constricts his ribcage, rubs salt in an old wound he thought had healed.

This whole time, she'd been someone else, and he'd been too wrapped up in himself to see. Sure, he felt something was off, but he thought it was him. He's the one who moved on, who changed. He was convinced if there was something amiss in his relationship with Marian, he was to blame. To find out he wasn't… To find out he was right…

He feels Regina's hand covering his own, her fingers sliding easily against his palm, squeezing. The contact brings him back to the present, his blue eyes finding her chocolate ones, those dark, shining orbs he's dreamt of so many times – the anchor he's been missing. The one he was searching for. (If only she could be so, if he hasn't done irreparable damage to their relationship.)

"I'm sorry." She says it like a confession, like she's guilty of something, (she's let go of his hand already; he feels the loss like a stab of pain in his chest,) and he frowns – why is she apologizing? "This was all about me. For her, this was all about…" She trails off, and resigns herself to her fate, finishing with false mockery, "making sure I'd never get my happy ending."

She truly believes her agony is deserved, that destiny is justly toying with her, laughing in her face at every twist and turn and curveball it throws at her.

He can't help himself for what follows, "If by happy ending you mean us… then, there's still a way that's possible again." He's hoping, he realizes, hoping fervently that he hasn't lost her.

He wants her, wants to be hers, badly, but he can't, not now. He doesn't have the right after the weeks he's spent laying beside and playing house with another woman – her sister of all people. Even hoping for a future with Regina at this point makes him one of those self-centered arses he despises.

Just as he predicted, Regina blinks at him as if he's just said something completely improbable, and the flicker of hope he's been holding on to is reduced to ashes. Even if she'd told him it was okay to move on when they were alone together at the mansion, when she was collecting the maps and the money he'd need for his journey, by doing so he's made himself unworthy of her.

"It's messy, I know," he half-apologizes, half-clarifies because if there's something he can bear less than the current look on Regina's face, it's the silence that's becoming their best friend, "but between us–"

"There's a huge obstacle!" she disagrees, a disbelieving look on her face at the mere suggestion he's making.

She's right, of course, but Marian's gone for the second time, and he's not ready to mourn the loss of her, too.

He might as well be, though, because Regina doesn't sound like she wants him around any longer than necessary. "It's going to get bigger every day, not just for nine months either. That's a lifetime she has cooking in there." He diverts his gaze at that, fixes on a crack in the flooring on the other side of the table. "No matter what happens from now on, there's going to be this _child_. You're tied together in a way… in a way we'll never be."

The sadness and the utter resignation in her voice as those words has him lifting his head. There's a finality to her words, like she's officially sealed their fate, and he's been cast out of her life forever, no chance of a future, bound to live the remainder of their days separately. (It eats at him. He screwed up, but he still can't imagine his life without her. What kind of a man does that make him?)

"I'm such an idiot to think life wouldn't kick me in the teeth again," she mutters, trying not to cry, to be stone cold and stronger. She's been pushing her feelings to the side for his benefit since Zelena dropped a brick on her, but he knows her better. Her resilient heart can be ever so fragile, and now he's tossed it to the ground, free to be stomped on by the world.

His hand lifts to reach out to hers on impulse, the need to comfort stronger than him, but he fists it just in time, puts it back down next to his drink. It's not his place to offer solace, not when he's the one responsible.

He settles for a simple, "I hear you," but she's still not looking at him, still trying to be impassive, to feel nothing, when he knows she feels more, feels everything deeply. "Just–"

"Just _what_?" She finally cracks, turning her head towards him. Her chin trembles slightly as her eyes search his in vain for the connection they once had. There's no mistaking the unshed tears glistening under the overhead lighting when she realizes it's not possible anymore. They're too damaged.

This time, though, Robin chooses to be strong for her. They can't crash and break at the same time, otherwise they'll never get through this. So at the risk of appearing insensitive he doesn't comment on her state of mind. He asks instead, "What do we do now?" The real question, _What do we do about us?_ , hanging between them.

He watches silently as she processes his words, stresses her face back into Queen-mode, emotionless, indifferent, the change tugging at his heart, sinking it lower in the pit of his stomach.

"Now," she pauses, inhales sharply and then lets out a shaky breath, "Now, we go home."

 **::**

Zelena is still strutting about the apartment when they arrive upstairs, reveling in her victory, not a care in the world for the family she's ruined for the sake of revenge.

Regina's stomach churns at the sight: her sister, laughing for no reason, acting as if this wicked plan of hers is going exactly the way she wants it. (It is. It's already worked. Her sister's coming back to Storybrooke with them, even if all she deserves is to rot in New York. Robin wouldn't allow it, though, and their relationship is under enough strain as it is, adding more would only ensure its permanent destruction.)

As much as Regina had told herself – tried to convince herself – she was ready for anything when she made it to New York, she realized early enough that the reality of it was much different. She'd known of her sister's deception, but Robin's defensive attitude, while understandable, had shaken her belief in them (in hope).

She curses his honour, the same godforsaken honour she's come to respect, admire even. It's causing her more trouble than it's worth.

That child should have been hers. She should have been able to bear Robin's son or daughter, to give him a fresh start, if that's what he wanted.

It's been over thirty years, she's had time to come to terms with her decision, wouldn't even change it if she could, but her crazy sister is pregnant with her soulmate's child, something Regina is painfully aware she'll never be able to give him, should their relationship ever recover from the blow. What if having more children is important to him? Isn't _this_ the reason why they're in this mess? It didn't take long for him to start a new family with the person he thought was his wife. (Regina knew he'd move on, but that doesn't make it hurt less.) What if Robin wants a child with her? What then? Is this rescue mission worth all the heartache bound to come later? When he tosses her to the side after learning she's made her own womb a toxic wasteland?

("Defeating bad guys is what heroes do." Henry's right. Henry's always right. "I believe in you. Now you need to believe, too." And that's why she's here. That's why she's going to help Robin despite the crushing feeling inside her chest.)

She wishes she were in Storybrooke, where she has access to her fireballs, where she could put an end to Zelena's maniacal gloating once and for all. _Goodbye sis_. No questions asked, just a pile of dust to prove her sister ever existed.

(Only, she can't do that. Because that's not her anymore.)

She knows she's being selfish. The Evil Queen has done her fair share of distasteful deeds. Regina's more than familiar with her past self's bloodthirsty habits, the ones that crossed her name out of the hero column for good. There has to be some sort of karmic retribution about all of this, some higher power that has it out for her, even though she's come far enough to realize how mean-intended her actions were. She doesn't regret anything, has come to accept and realize it since their adventure in Neverland. Everything has brought her here, now, to Henry (and to her newfound friendship with the unCharmings, and to Robin – whatever the state of their relationship is), but she's tired of the evil label she can't seem to shake. The book may be about the past, but her present just looks more daunting every day.

It seems timing will never be on her side. No matter what she does, she loses. Snow was wrong. That's how it's always been for her; it's who she is. (That's why she needs to get to the author, to make him change things.)

Because this… this is all her fault, no matter what Robin says. If there's anyone to blame for the misery that's entered their lives, it's her. If she hadn't loved Robin, if he hadn't been cursed as her soulmate, his family would have been safe from Zelena's twisted little games, Marian wouldn't have died at the hands of her sister, and Roland wouldn't have lost his mother twice.

Zelena doesn't care about the consequences of her actions on Robin and his family. They're but expendable pawns to her, and someone has to make her pay for what she's done.

"Oh sis! Back already?" Zelena pipes up when Regina's done announcing they're going back to Storybrooke. "Didn't enjoy your drink? Robin doesn't have the best taste in bars," she taunts, all too pleased with herself.

The moment said man has crossed the room to fetch Roland, thankfully still asleep in the bedroom, Regina pounces on her sister before Emma can hold her back, ignoring the call of _Regina!_ that leaves the blonde's lips. She slams her sister against the cupboards, knocking the breath out of her.

"Just wait until we're alone, sis," Regina hisses, a few inches away from Zelena's face. "I'm not done with you."

All Zelena does is smile, hauntingly. "Good. I look forward to it," she teases, eyes gleaming with cruelty, "because I'm not done with you either."

Regina grits her teeth, fist clenching around Zelena's shirt. She is _this_ close to striking her sister in the face, when another voice, a quiet one, stops her just in time.

"Regina?"

Her hand drops to her side and her grip loosens immediately. She turns to the little boy half-asleep in Robin's arms, rubbing his eyes in confusion at being woken up at such a late hour.

"Hi, Roland," Regina greets with a smile, more genuine than she thought she'd be able to give him, her voice light and strain-free, her troubles set aside in Roland's interest.

(The boy has always been able to draw the best out of her. She remembers the missing year and the stoic not-quite-Evil Queen she'd been then, who melted at the very sight of this little mop of brown hair.)

She lets go of Zelena and walks over to the boys (her boys, as she still calls them in the privacy of her own head, where such thoughts can only hurt herself) and throws one quick look at Emma. The silent communication is enough for the blonde to know to grab her sister and drag her outside. (Zelena goes without a fuss. That's something at least.) There's no point in Roland seeing her wearing his mother's clothes if it can be avoided, no point in confusing the boy more than he'll already be when they make him drink that forgetting potion.

Lily follows Emma out the door, and Regina is left alone with Robin in the small apartment, faking smiles for Roland's sake when they've yet to allow themselves the same luxury.

It's Roland who breaks the frozen stance of the adults in the room when he extends tired little arms towards her, and Regina walks closer to take him from Robin, buries her nose in his messy hair and hugs him close to her chest.

She breathes him in. He smells of shampoo and soap, fresh out of the shower and into bed. She rocks him in her arms, whispers in his ear, "Go back to sleep, my little knight," as she used to call him during the missing year, and he's already getting heavier in her arms by the time she adds, "We're going home."

He's probably too tired to understand what she's saying, and thank God for it. Explaining things to him tonight would have made this evening much harder than it already is.

A sniffle next to her makes her look up at Robin, momentarily forgotten since the moment Roland called for her. He's fighting tears now, looking utterly lost: hands shoved in his pockets, hunched shoulders, chin down, gaze cast low. His earlier anger has abated, almost completely gone now, leaving just enough room for realization to seep in and grip his heart, hollow fingers digging into the organ and squeezing.

Regina aches for his sorrow, for him, knows exactly what it's like to lose the person you love. To lose them twice leaves a permanent imprint on your heart, a scar that never completely heals. (Now's not the time for her own wounds though. She needs to be strong for him. She was mostly alone going through her grief over Daniel's loss; she won't let Robin be.

It'll be enough, if all she is is a shoulder to lean on. She'll at least have some sense of usefulness, even if that's all she can be to him, and maybe she can salvage her heart later.)

Balancing Roland on her left side, she reaches out to Robin, pulls on his arms to tug his hand out of his pocket. His movements are slow, mindless. He heeds her handling, but his eyes are hollow, not the loving, vibrant blues with which he looked at her, _before_. Not even the anger-veiled ones he had at the bar. Even those were better than this new motionlessness. She knows how to deal with anger; this lack of, well, anything rattles her.

She brings his hand to her heart, tucks it between Roland and her chest, like he's done for her before, and curls her fingers around his. (The irony that Zelena held her heart that last time is not lost on her. Her sister might not hold Robin's now, but she did – still does? – in a way Regina never will.) _Use mine for both of us_ , he'd said it's her turn to be strong for both of them.

Robin seems to recognize and appreciate the thought because he peers into the depth of her eyes, and it's like a switch flicks back in place, like a long gone tether rounds their joined hands and knots, stitching a tear in their souls. (There are still many cracks, scars and wounds to be fixed, but this is a start. This, she can live with. For tonight, she'll let it be enough.)

"You're both safe," she reminds him. "She can't hurt you anymore."

His chest deflates, and he whimpers as the air leaves his lungs. He looks at his feet, recoils in a corner of his mind, but she's not about to lose him, not about to let him pull away from her, not when she had him. Not when, if roles were reversed (when roles were reversed), he wouldn't let her (he hadn't let her).

She lets go of his hands, reaches for his jaw as she steps closer to him, her elbow inches away from his chest. She tilts his head up. "Stop thinking," she whispers. "We're here now," _and this is true_ , he'd said. Only this time, she can't offer him the same reassurances. They feel out of place in this setting.

But Robin nods all the same. It's barely registrable, but it's there, and Regina forces a thin smile at this small win.

She's tempted to kiss him, to soothe away the pain in the way he's always known to soothe hers, but she hesitates, doesn't know if it's something he'd want.

Her left arm is starting to cramp from Roland's sleeping weight, and she winces as she shifts him a little, tries to find another, more manageable position without waking him. Robin notices immediately, brings his arm up and clasps his hand around her elbow so they're both supporting his son, and this is good, natural, and so much easier on her shoulder.

The movement, born out of habit and parenting, has closed the remaining distance between them, something that feels foreign now, despite the embrace they'd shared when he opened the door. (Has it only been an hour? It feels more like days, weeks, even.) And now only Roland separates them, his beautiful boy she's come to love almost as her own, and they're forced to stare at each other, fully and completely, masks gone, caught unguarded by their vulnerability. (Her heart aches for him, threatens to burst out of her chest if she's not careful.)

They're pulled together like magnets, by a force stronger than them, and Regina's lashes flutter closed as her forehead comes to rest on his, the touch somehow more familiar, more intimate than a kiss.

How long they stay like this she doesn't know, and doesn't care. It's her first moment of peace, and she relishes it: the feel of his hand on her elbow, his brows pressed to hers, his stubble under her palm, his steadying breath on her skin. His left hand has come to rest on her waist gently, just enough to close the bubble they've created around them, for them to _be_.

It's only when Emma comes back, telling them they've rented a car and are ready to go, that they let go of each other, Regina reluctantly handing Roland back to his father.

The gentle breeze of the New Yorkian night sends shivers down her spine as she steps outside, her coat flicking open when a particularly cold gust of wind blows past her, a harsh reminder that reality isn't as warm as Robin's embrace.

* * *

 _Special thanks to Adi and Eva. You both know why. And to all of you reading these words, this story wouldn't exist without them._


	2. Chapter 2

The moon rests just above the treetops when they pull in a 24-hour gas station to refuel and grab some much-needed coffee.

Regina is the first one out of her car, the cool, 4:30-am breeze replacing the recycled air in her lungs. She breathes in loudly as her lashes flutter closed, seizing this little moment to herself before she sets about gassing up the rented minivan, this neverending day taking its toll on her already exhausted brain. Emma is probably no different, she thinks, as glances at the pump across from her to see Emma mindlessly filling up the bug.

The sun will be peeking over the horizon in a few hours, and restful nights have been few and far between since the new villains made it to town. (It's still weird, setting herself apart from them – is she really that different?) Only the adrenaline of the past few days has kept Regina awake, the need for this trip to be over, to finally reach Storybrooke and put all of this behind. (Only she can't, not yet. Probably not ever. Her sister's made sure of that.)

They left New York sometime after midnight. She hadn't dared check the clock until they were well on their way on the interstate, Roland and Robin fast asleep in their seats.

Robin had tried to stay awake, claiming it was unfair he'd get to sleep and she didn't, but she could see he was nodding off, his mind shutting down after the overwhelming shock he'd just been through. After the third time his head almost hit the dash, she'd ordered him to try and get some sleep, reminded him that he would be of no use to Roland tomorrow if he was overly tired.

He'd protested again, saying they had to talk – which, right, they did, and still do, but not when they were both still raw and tired. She'd promised not to badger him if it didn't work, but _would he at least try?_

He'd finally relented, had let his eyelids fall shut, and, well, it turns out she'd been right because he's still sleeping, a fact that has relief flowing through Regina's veins. At least one of them would get the rest they needed.

With Robin not attempting conversation, it had given her time alone to think, something that's been terribly lacking in her life lately.

Their reunion hadn't quite gone the way she envisioned. She doesn't know exactly what she expected, but not _this_. Never this.

Her hopes had been crushed like they always were, a reminder that she has no power over destiny.

 _Ain't fate a bitch_ , indeed.

Only, it wasn't Emma who was its victim, but her. Always her.

The absence of traffic on the road at this time of the night had also allowed Regina to steal a few glances at the man sleeping next to her: Robin, his face free of worry for the first time since he opened the door to his apartment, since she barged back into his life with soul-crushing news. In the space of a few seconds, she'd overturned his world, and despite his earlier assurances that she wasn't responsible, Regina couldn't help but feel guilty.

A _clunk_ tells her the tank is full, and she closes the cap, puts the dispenser back in place.

After one last look inside the car to make sure Robin is still conked out in the passenger seat, she heads for the small convenience store, intent on purchasing her own kind of fuel.

"How's the drive?"

Emma has joined her at the coffee station, Lily having offered to stay in the car and watch Zelena while Regina and Emma got coffees and snacks for everyone. (Everyone save Zelena. Wicked sisters don't get coffee privileges.) And as usual, agreeable silence (when she's not the one avoiding conversation) is a notion that escapes her road trip partner.

Regina finishes filling her cup to the rim before she acknowledges Emma, a strong dosage of black coffee exactly what she needs right now.

"Why don't you ask what you really want to know, Miss Swan?" she scorns, not one for idle chatter.

Emma shifts her weight back on her heels, backing off slightly. "I don't _want_ to know anything. I just– I want you to know that I'm here to listen," Emma offers awkwardly, then, gesturing to her cup, "Or add a shot to your coffee if you prefer."

"I need to be able to _drive_ to Storybrooke," Regina scoffs sourly, clipping a lid on her precious beverage.

"Fine, no shots," Emma agrees. "Chocolate?"

Regina rolls her eyes as she grabs a second paper cup to fill it with coffee for Robin – an apology for not waking him – and derides, "Please – I don't need to be coddled."

She steps a few feet to the side when her cup is full, letting Emma use the machine while she mixes two creams, two sugars in Robin's coffee. She feels a tiny lick of pride at remembering his order from that one morning they shared at Granny's, but it's gone quickly, replaced by the thousand other emotions she doesn't know how to handle. She caps the coffee and swivels around, leans back against the counter. Resting her eyes, she crosses her arms and enjoys a few last seconds of peace before they head back on the road.

She's tired – exhausted really – could use a good night of rest in her own bed: feather pillow and soft sheets and warm comforter. She imagines herself wrapped in Egyptian cotton, hums softly at the thought of falling asleep in comfort and peace, two facets that have been missing from her life lately.

"Have you two talked?" Emma breaks into her thoughts again, and Regina's reaction is immediate.

Her muscles contract, leaving her tensed and wary, the uncomfortable sensation from the apartment returning to the bottom of her stomach. She forces open her eyes, silently cursing Emma's inherited nosiness. It seems the apple didn't fall too far from the tree.

"Robin's asleep," she challenges, but Emma sets her full cup of coffee on the counter with an air of nonchalance, then grabs an empty one, all the while not looking her way.

That does it.

Emma's apparent indifference piques her already irritated nerves. She's the one who brought up the subject, made her think about Robin and the incredibly precarious state of their relationship. She doesn't get to walk out of that conversation just like that. "It's not like I forced him to," she defends, her voice raising a half-octave. (Except she kind of did.)

Emma gives her a look that tells Regina she's been caught. "And you're forgetting about my superpower." Regina rolls her eyes; Emma adds two dollops of half-and-half to her coffee. "You can't avoid him forever."

Regina's eyes widen. "Like you're not avoiding your parents?" she asserts, and that finally earns her the desired reaction from Emma.

"That's different," the blonde snaps.

Well, someone's crabby. "Sure it is."

Emma puts down Lily's coffee order a bit forcefully before facing Regina head on. "Fine. Don't talk about it. But there's one person who's just as miserable as you are right now, and even if you won't talk to me, you should talk to him," the blonde admonishes.

If a Queen pouted, Regina would have done so right now. But she's not ready to admit defeat. It's not as simple as Emma puts it. (Maybe it is.)

She glares at her friend, grasps her and Robin's coffees and heads for the cashier. "We need to get going if we want to be in Storybrooke before noon," she declares, hoping the discussion will be left at that.

It is. They pay for their coffees (Emma grabs a Hershey's Cookies'n'Creme bar too; Regina lifts her eyes to the ceiling and sighs) and head back outside.

Robin's rubbing his eyes awake when she makes it back to the minivan. She opens the door and passes him the two coffees, greeted by a mumble that sounds like a mix of _morning_ and _hello_.

The sun has not yet showed its nose, though, and the only indication that night is almost over are some lighter shades of purple colouring the sky at the horizon line. It'll be morning before they hit the border of Maine, well after breakfast by the time they reach Storybrooke.

It's morning for Robin, she supposes. It's doubtful he'll fall back asleep. Coffee had been a good call.

He sets her cup between them on the console and takes a sip of his own as she buckles her seatbelt, hissing at the almost scalding temperature of the liquid.

"Careful," she warns too late, making him roll his eyes.

For a moment, the air between them is familiar. She smirks, he smiles, and it's like nothing's happened.

He puts down his coffee next to hers, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, and chuckles softly, "Yes, I'll try to remember that."

Then they're left in silence, and Regina realizes she was wrong. Everything's happened.

She clears her throat. "Did you sleep well?" Small talk. Her favourite.

"My neck is a tad sore," he confesses as he brings a hand to massage at the taut muscles of his nape, "but I'll survive." He gives her an unconvincing smile, one that makes her stomach twist and loop again.

She has to resist the urge to remove his hand, to replace his fingers with hers and massage his neck herself. It would be so easy. All she has to do is stretch out her arm, press her palm, then the pad of her fingers to his skin, knead and work the knot until it gives. It would be _oh-so-easy_ , but she nods instead, schooling her face into a passive expression that doesn't give away her thoughts. She reaches for the key and turns it, the car roaring back to life.

Emma waves her hand out her window to signal she's ready to go. Regina replies the same way, and they're back on the road an instant later. Next stop: Storybrooke, Maine.

Robin keeps to himself as they make their way to the interstate. He's got his coffee back in hand, lid off, blows at the liquid to cool it down a little. That's one mistake he's learned from.

They're driving at a steady pace by the time it's lukewarm and he can sip it quietly; hers is still a bit hot, but she likes the burning sensation it leaves as it goes down her throat. She needs it to stay awake.

He steals a few looks at his son in-between swallows, but Roland hasn't moved an inch. He's still dead to the world in the rear seat, fortunately unaware of the troubles stirring the adults in the front.

"Thank you," Robin says softly after thirty minutes contemplating the scenery, coffee now half-empty and back on the console next to her own near-empty cup.

Regina acknowledges him with a small movement of the head. She knows he means to thank her for more than just the coffee and the drive home. She can't blame him for his lack of words, not after everything that's happened. She hasn't fared any better; had purposefully wanted him to nap to stay clear of a conversation she wasn't ready for.

She doesn't like people poking at the cracks in her armour, even if it's Robin, even if he's been able to read her since day one. It feels like an unwelcome intrusion, and she doesn't know how they'll get past this. How will things ever go back to normal if they can't even share ten words without hurting each other? (Here she is, hoping again, thinking they can overcome this obstacle even though she should know better.

Things will never go back to normal. Her life isn't normal. She's done far too much evil for it to ever be that simple.)

The next silence is not awkward, per se, but loaded. She can hear the seconds tick away, closer and closer to the moment where they'll have no choice but to grant words to what's happened. A part of Regina wants to talk to him, and for him to talk to her like he used to – she's missed the soothing lilt of his voice, its instantaneous calming effect – but there's a wall between them now, a wall built in nine weeks that neither of them can seem to bring down.

"How are you?" Robin prods carefully. More platitudes then, it seems.

"As well as can be expected," she answers, stretching her fingers, drumming the tips on the wheel.

Robin doesn't reply.

She flicks her gaze to him just in time to catch his eyes, filled with remorse and shame and sadness. All directed at her.

It's like staring at an abyss of pain.

It's too much, too soon, and they both look away, unable to deal with such strong emotions. It's nearly 5 AM, they should be sleeping, not confronting their inner demons.

He's staring out the windshield when she looks over next, gaze lost in the highway before them, his mind thousands of miles away. He's probably replaying the events of the last three months in his head, trying to see where he did wrong, if he could have seen it coming.

Robin says he knows her, but the truth is she knows him, too. What happened back in New York is not his fault, no matter how strongly she feels about it. Zelena has a way of getting everything she wants, and she had, at the expense of his heart.

Perhaps Emma's right. Maybe they need to talk to someone, and it might as well be each other.

"I'm tired," Regina concedes, and her words have the desired effect to make Robin look at her, to bring him back to the present. Progress, at last. "This isn't my first sleepless night," she adds with a tight smile. Her eyes dart back to the highway, confident that she's not going to lose him again.

From the corner of her eye, she spies worry bleeding into the creases of his face, making him look older, wearier. "I'd offer to drive if I could," he says, sincere. His concern touches her.

"I'll be fine," she assures. "I've been through worse."

He's visibly perturbed by that, doesn't know if she means in general (because of course then, she'd have been through worse, and he knows that) or just recently (which is what he seems anxious about). But he doesn't press her for an explanation, asking instead, "What happened? After I left."

 _What didn't happen_ seems like a more appropriate question. "Belle discovered Gold was hiding the real dagger, and forced him out of town," she starts with the easy part, "but that you're aware of." It feels like so long ago now. "Henry found a library inside the Sorcerer's mansion, full of empty books, but no trace of the Author. And then life... went on," she recalls with mixed emotion.

It'd been hard, trying to let go of Robin a second time, three days after he'd kissed her senseless in her vault and they'd dropped down every remaining barrier between them. Three days of near-bliss, that's what they were, despite the Snow Queen trying to destroy them.

She's missed his presence by her side, the way he'd soothe her worries with a single look or touch. The way he'd know how to listen or what to say when she banged her head against the brick walls of her own mind.

She needs him as such now, but doesn't know how to ask. (She's never had to ask.) "Snow gave up the mayor's office after less than two months at the job. I think she grew tired of the paperwork." Her following laugh is fake and hollow, but Robin either buys it or doesn't call her out on it. "We had a visit from some old friends and here we are, three weeks and not enough sleep later."

"Old friends?" he prompts, and Regina moves her head up and down.

"Seems Gold found Ursula and Cruella in New York after he left you," she answers. "They came to town and resurrected Maleficent." She can feel him tense at the mention of the three villains; she wasn't the only one with a reputation in the Enchanted Forest. "They were after the Author, too," she concludes, tone dropping low.

Robin half-gapes at her, and she wonders if he remembers the same thing she does: a conversation about the author in her vault, him insisting on proving to her just how good she was from between her thighs, her replying she thought his opinion might be swayed from his position. He'd only chuckled, kissed her again until he made her see stars.

She _misses_ him.

"Did you find him?" His voice pulls her away from the agonizing ( _oh-so-amazing_ ) memory of his fingers ghosting over her skin.

"Y– yes," she stutters, (needs to be more careful about the lingering thoughts that enter her mind,) "but he prefers siding with Gold."

"If anyone can make him change his mind, you can."

"Oh, I will," Regina simpers, a self-assured smile tugging at her lips. "Just wait until we get back to Storybrooke. I have quite the plan for my green sister."

Robin shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Regina–" he starts, but stops himself, looks at her, then back at the road, lets out a heavy sigh. "Don't do anything impetuous."

She scoffs in disbelief, "Me?"

The look he gives her says it all. "I know you."

That... _that_ ignites the ire she's been trying to repress. _How dare he?_ "You haven't seen me in three months," she blurts out, regretting the sharpness of her words as soon as they're out, but she can't help her bitterness. They've been edging around the real conversation for twenty minutes now, making small talk, trying to steer clear of this… hurdle. But now that she's started, Regina can't stop the hurt-filled words that pass her lips. "You spent more time with her than you did with me!"

She's being unfair, she knows, because they'd _agreed_ , but the reality of Robin moving on, in every aspect of a relationship, makes her see red. All she'd had these past nine weeks were a slow-mending broken heart, a pieced-together page XXIII, and her own hand at night to fill the void left by his departure. He seems to have fared a lot better than she did.

"Regina…" he tries, fumbles for words. "Letting you go," he exhales loudly, brings a hand from his face down to his neck, "it's the hardest thing I ever had to do."

Her next laugh is filled with scorn, eyes shooting up to the ceiling, disbelieving.

"I know this is ill-timed," he sounds apologetic now, pained, "but I need you to believe me."

She huffs, shakes her head. She doesn't _want_ to believe him. What she wants is throw caution to the wind and vomit all manner of harsh words she knows, watch him suffer.

But Regina's come far enough to realize this is the anger talking. So she takes a moment, filling her lungs with air. When she glances at Robin again, the sight that greets her knocks the air out of her.

He looks like hell. Worn out and tensed, his gaze shifty. He's sitting limply, boneless, as if he wants to disappear into the polyester of the seat. She's never seen him like this. Her Robin used to be strong (stronger than she was). He'd come up with something to reassure her, to make her hope again; he wouldn't just sit there and wait for the final blow.

She hates seeing him like this, despite the low-burning anger in her belly, hates that he feels the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was led on by Zelena; nothing that happened was his fault. If anything, she'll blame his honour – she did the first time.

"I do believe you," she tells him, a little reluctantly and still with a cutting edge to her tone, but she gentles it for his sake. "I just…" She trails off, and she knows her next words will sound inconsiderate, but it's how she feels, and Robin would want her to be honest, so she brings herself to admit, "A part of me wishes you hadn't moved on."

There's a long, charged silence following her declaration, where Regina has to do everything in her power not to look at him.

His voice is barely above whisper when he replies, "So do I."

She doesn't say anything after that.

 **::**

Eventually, when she's done with her coffee and his has gone cold, Robin allows himself to tilt his head towards the window, slipping into unconsciousness a few minutes later, fatigue getting the better of him.

Regina lets him sleep, and the sun is up and bright in the sky when he wakes next, feeling a lot better than he did earlier in the night.

"Good morning again," Regina says, and it seems her mood has slightly improved, too, from what it was before their little heart-to-heart. She's smiling at him, a small thing. Not the full blown one he adores, but a smile nonetheless, and for now Robin will be happy with whatever he can get.

He grunts a "Good morning" in reply, voice still rough from sleep. "Are we close?"

"Just under an hour."

He nods and rubs a palm to his face before craning his neck around the seat to check on Roland. His head is resting against the door on a small pillow they brought him, eyes closed, perfectly still, unresponsive to the motions of the car. For the first time Robin thanks New York City for teaching his boy to sleep soundly regardless of what's going on around him. It'd taken a while, and Robin remembers many sleepless nights in the first two months, but his son had finally gotten used to the loud music, the honking cars and the bright lights hurling through the window, better than he did himself.

A smile hovers on his lips when he settles back in his seat, steering his attention back to the front just in time to catch Regina mid-yawn, hand flying up to cover her mouth.

The reflexive question rolls off his tongue: "Are you alright?"

She bobs her head up and down in response but doesn't speak, taken by another surprise yawn.

Luckily they don't have much more road to do, otherwise he'd be worried about her. She's looks worn out, the lines on her face drawn and dragging down. He'll take it on himself to make sure she gets decent sleep when they reach to Storybrooke, unless there's a catastrophe waiting for them. (There is one; her name is Zelena.)

"How did Roland adjust to life in New York?" she asks him, and whether she'd caught the way he'd looked at his son earlier or just needed to talk to stay awake, Robin doesn't know, but he's happy to oblige. It's the least he can do for her.

"The noise was hard getting used to," Robin recalls. "He never wanted to sleep unless I was with him, and kept asking to go home..." There's a pang of guilt in his chest as he realizes they could have. They wouldn't even have had to leave in the first place, if only he'd been better. "But exhaustion won out, and now, thank the Gods, he can sleep through anything." Which is definitely not the case for him. His sleepless nights had only in part been due to the incessant treble of the city. Most had been spent thinking of the woman now sitting next to him, selfishly hoping for a different life than the one bestowed upon him. "He's a tough boy," Robin finishes with a hint of pride. Contrary to his father, who had pined for one woman while sleeping with another. It's a shame he'll always bear.

"That he is," Regina agrees, interrupting her scanning of the road, her warm eyes finding his before she completes, "He takes after his father."

Tears prickle at the corner of his eyes at her words, mixing with his weariness and leaving him speechless. He didn't think he'd hear her say something like that so soon, with the ease and comfort they once shared. His heart swells with affection as he both thanks and curses fate for putting Regina in his path. He doesn't deserve someone like her, someone who feels emotions deeply, who loves with every fiber of her being.

He's made mistakes, the life-altering kind, and he's positively sure he'll make more. It's only a matter of time before the little they have left disappears, too. But when she smiles and reaches to take the hand he has resting on his lap, there's a bloom of hope replacing the culpable feeling inside his chest. Robin responds to her touch by gently brushing his thumb against the back of her hand, the gesture not enough to soothe all the pain they've suffered, but alleviating it little by little.

He waits until his finger stills naturally before questioning, "So, what about you during the last three months?" She creases a brow and he specifies, "You told me about Belle, Snow White and Mr. Gold…" trailing off to make his point. "I'd like to hear about you."

She _ohs_ in surprise and mumbles, "I went undercover," as if it's nothing important. His eyes grow wide at the news, and how she firmly believed he wouldn't care about such things creates a sharp twinge in his thorax. She removes her hand from his grasp (he lets it go despite the ache to clutch at her fingers, respects her need for space); it helps her find her footing and continue, "Snow was worried about the villains, so she asked me to infiltrate them."

"You?" he says, incredulous.

She eyes him. "Yes, me."

"I have a hard time imagining that."

Regina rebounds immediately, "I was one of them before. I was doing just fine."

"Until you ended up a prisoner of Gold's," Robin guesses, and she makes that adorable face she does when she's upset, frowns in the way that he loves.

She lifts her chin, straightens her back. "You don't know that."

Robin cocks his head to the side to hide a grin. "Your reaction suggests otherwise," he points out, and she clams up, huffing and puffing in the most charming of ways.

He's missed this. Their carefree banter, riling her up in all friendliness just because he could. He wishes the future could be like this, her and him, no destiny torn asunder because he's made an irreparable mistake.

"I'd have liked to see you do better," she scoffs when she's collected herself, and _oh_ , this is dangerous. This is how he fell for her in the first place, over a year ago now, in the forest, amongst witty barbs, tears and dark curses.

He shrugs. "Ah– but evil looks so much better on you," he flirts anyway, the compliment sweeping off his tongue with an affinity he thought lost.

Regina's reaction is instantaneous. Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink, her chin dips down, and she loses the fight against the grin making its way to her lips.

He smirks, she smiles, and it's easy again. For now.

 **::**

They converse amicably the rest of the way.

Regina updates him on the status of everyone in Storybrooke, their mission to bring back Lily, and how the Charmings are not so charming anymore. He enchants her with stories of the big city, of his job as a bartender, of the time he stole a horse to chase after a thief. And just like that, they make their way to Storybrooke, one conversation after another, not a dull or awkward moment.

That is, until they cross town line.

When they do, the atmosphere in the car tenses, and the closer they get to Main Street, the thicker the air gets. Their back and forth exchange on Roland's and Henry's childhood antics comes to an end, leaving only dead silence in its wake.

By the time they're parked in front of Granny's, Robin's playing with his fingers, looking down at his lap.

He should be joining the others outside the car, but he can't bring himself to open the door, his body refusing to move even an inch. He picks at his callouses as if they are remarkably fascinating, the joyous reunion outside only a blur in his vision.

This isn't a happy return, not for him. It's a shameful one, a telling of how he's betrayed someone incredibly important to these people – people he used to call friends. He's not ready for the judgement awaiting him once he steps outside the car, for the stares he'll likely be on the receiving end of.

He wishes he could turn back time. As tension-filled as the drive home was (the last hour aside), it had only been him and Regina, Roland sleeping in the back, the two people he cherishes above all else. He'd been able to pretend, if only for a while, that their lives were normal. To act as if he still had a right to his feelings for the woman next to him.

The harsh truth finds him again in the streets of Storybrooke: they're back to square one, trying to figure how they fit in this changed reality.

To top it all off, he's forced to witness Lily reuniting with her mother when Marian has been unjustly ripped away from his son. It's not fair, and he can't stand just looking at them; can't bring himself to care about the happiness radiating from Maleficent's face.

If that makes him a selfish bastard, then so be it. One more fault to add to his ever growing list.

"Are you alright?" Regina's voice cuts through the troubled haze of his mind, lighting a path to his clearer thoughts.

He looks at her and sees no point in hiding it, so he shakes his head. "No, I'm not alright."

It'd been going so well – too well. And she seems to think the same because she reaches out for his hand, his sweaty palm firmly grasped by hers.

"We'll get through this," she promises, though Robin doesn't know if she means the general _we_ or them _we_. Asking would indicate he expects a second chance, and Regina definitely doesn't owe him one. The fact that she checks on his feelings before exiting the car is already enough, entirely more than he deserves from her.

They could be friends. Maybe that part of their relationship isn't too damaged to fix. Perhaps, it could be enough. (It won't be, but the other alternative is Regina not being in his life at all, and Robin doesn't want to contemplate that possibility.)

After one last hand squeeze and a forced smile, a mutual need for strength they don't have alone, Regina pushes open her door, leaving him to do the same.

He's not ready, but he knows he can't stay in his seat forever. It would be cheating.

Summoning his courage, he opens the passenger door.

The world outside the cocoon of the car is as unkind as he expected, everything he wants but can't have.

Regina is already gathering Henry in her arms, pulling him in a fierce hug. If she holds on a bit longer than necessary, no one's to judge, least of all himself. She greets Snow and David at the same time, shares a look with Maleficent, and it's all so natural, so friendly. Not at all like greeting old enemies.

He's missed more than he'd previously thought. There's a new dynamic between these people, nine weeks of living together he hasn't been a part of. It makes him feel out of place, unwanted.

Regina comes to him before he can retreat too far into himself, saving him from drowning in the troubled waters of his own mind. She catches his hand, anchors him to the shore – to her.

"See?" she whispers for his ears only, "That wasn't so bad," and while he appreciates her efforts, he knows they're just words. They don't erase his mistakes.

He's stained; he's stained _them_ , forever now. What he's done makes him unworthy of her, of them, and he doesn't know what their boundaries are anymore, what's acceptable.

David yanks Zelena out of the bug, dragging her by the arm onto the sidewalk.

The commotion makes Robin look past Regina's shoulders and straight at the woman who'd poisoned his existence. Just the sight of her is enough to make him sick to his stomach, memories of the past nine weeks assailing his mind, bile rising in his throat.

How she's just _standing_ there, looking perfectly content and pleased with herself when his life has been completely turned upside down by her actions; how one human being can do this to another, Robin can't fathom.

He wants to shout, to cry, to run as far away from here as possible.

He wants to wrap his arms around Regina, to breathe in her scent and run his fingers through her hair, to feel her heart beating steadily against his, reminding him that he's alive.

Because he doesn't feel alive right now; he's cold, so terribly cold.

He needs to hold on to her until the sun rises again, just to make sure he'll see the light, that he isn't shrouded in darkness forever.

He needs to hold on to her and never let go.

(He needs her to not let go.)

Henry comes over next, a unexpected sympathetic smile on his face. "I'm sorry about…" He trails off awkwardly, but this small hint of acceptance means more to Robin than words can say.

He looks from son to mother with tear-filled eyes and nods his thanks, not trusting his voice.

 **::**

There's a slight tremble to his limbs when Henry approaches. He'd been empty-eyed, staring at Zelena with no reaction. He'd looked like he did in the car after she yelled at him, right before he admitted he wished none of this would have ever happened. Only there'd been no seat for him to sink in here, only the sun casting its brightest light on truths he'd – they'd – rather forget.

His eyes glisten with unshed tears at Henry's words, and she thanks her son with a look, too, a knowing glance that confirms Robin will be in good hands while she takes care of her sister. She ignores the pang in her chest as she realizes how grown up her little prince really is. She can't shield him from life's cruel jokes on her anymore; he's too old for that.

Robin lowers his eyes again, and Regina's heart aches for him. No prison is ever going to be enough for her sister. Zelena needs to be punished for what she's done, for the lives she's destroyed. (Because of her, Regina thinks. Her sister is doing all of this is just to fulfill her own stupid revenge agenda against _her_.)

The least she can do is give Robin a choice. "This is your call," she offers, relieved when Robin's eyes settle on her, steadier than she expected them. "What do you want to do?"

His gaze flicks to Zelena, then back to her. He swallows.

"I don't want to see her," he decides, but the pleading look in his eyes and the quaver in his voice betray the resolution of his voice, shooting straight to her heart.

Zelena will pay for what she did.

Regina nods, pressing her lips together, and is about to turn around when Robin calls back, "Regina…" but stops himself, creasing his brow as if he's guilty of something. (Enough guilt, there's been enough–) "The baby…" he attempts a second time, but fails again to complete his thought.

Right.

The baby.

They stare at each other, and Regina can feel the familiar tension thickening around them, the screaming silence echoing in her ears, the same way it did at the bar.

This is what their future looks like: constant reminders of what they can never have.

David chooses that moment to motions Zelena down the street, and Regina swivels around abruptly, heading straight for them. She grips Zelena's arm with no gentle touch, pulling her sister back towards her, effectively stopping the duo dead in their tracks.

"Just where do you think you're going?" she questions, none too pleased with his decision of leading Zelena away.

"I'm getting her to the station," David answers, as if his intent was evident.

Regina shakes her head and declares, "She's coming with me," the dead timbre of her voice clearly stating she's not to be opposed.

Still, David insists, "I can keep an eye on her," and his coddling tone, like he's just looking out for her best interests, only infuriates Regina even more. Who is he to know what's good for her?

She doesn't have the patience to reason with anyone today. She wants to shout, to tell them all to _shut up_. She hasn't slept since the night before, still has to put together a forgetting potion, find the author, and fix this mess in any way she can. She doesn't have time for a petty Sheriff who thinks she's incapable of dealing with her sister.

"Oh please, just make up your minds already," Zelena complains, mockingly exhausted.

Regina ultimately wins the staring contest, David giving up on fighting the Evil Queen. A wise choice. He doesn't want to mess with her. Especially not today.

He joins Snow with a shrug Regina doesn't miss (she should have killed this exasperating Prince when she had the chance) as she leads her sister in the other direction. Zelena's derisive laugh as she's taken away only contributes to Regina's growing headache.

Robin has collected Roland from the car when she passes in front of him, the poor child hiding his face from the bright sunlight in his father's neck. He stops her with a hand to her elbow when she passes in front of him.

"Where are you taking her?" he asks, concern evident in his voice.

It irritates her, the worry in his tone, as if he's doubting her. As if she could make an irrational decision such as lighting her sister on fire right here and now. (She's tempted, she has to admit.) She wants him to be angry, just like she is, not concerned or apathetic, which is all she's been able to get from him. But Robin's too good for that. He's always been too good for that.

Regina replies a bit more abruptly than she normally would have. "I'm taking her somewhere she can never hurt anyone again."

Her curt answer doesn't deter him. (He's back to being his annoying self, too, it seems.) He takes one step towards her, ignoring Zelena who's looking at them with a contemptuous smile, and requests, "Let me come with you."

She presses her hand to his torso, forcing him to halt mid-step. She can't have him close right now. He'll simply shake her resolve, make her wish for things she knows are out of her reach. (Or at least they are until she finds the author and makes him solve their problems once and for all.)

"This is something I need to do alone," she tells Robin, and the disappointed look in his eyes is unmissable. She wishes she could make him understand that she needs to see this through. With him by her side, she'd only be distracted. "Go to the loft with Roland; it's closer," she advises. "I'll meet you there."

He bobs his head up and down with reluctance, closes his eyes briefly.

"Be careful," he adds when she's about to go, his fragile tone and rapidly increasing heartbeat under her palm suggesting he'd wanted to say something entirely different.

Her hand jolts away from him as if burned, her fingers suddenly cold at the loss of contact. She doesn't speak, simply nods, and Robin steps back, wrapping his arm tighter around his son.

Regina hates that she's done this to him, made his life a living hell because of who she is. If he'd fallen for anyone else, he wouldn't be in this mess. No dead wives back from the past who turn out to be her wicked sister; no unwanted baby on the way with said sister; no constant heartbreak.

She takes her sister away, Zelena following without objections this time, only a self-satisfied grin that makes Regina's stomach churn.

This day needs to end, to disappear. To have never existed at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Regina holds onto the vial like a lifeline as she climbs the steps to the Charmings' loft, trying to focus on the task at hand and the reason bringing her here, and not the other dozens of ideas currently raging through her head about how to erase Zelena from existence. The green door coming into view has her halting two and a half steps from the landing, forcing down an anxious lump throbbing in her throat.

They'll try to get her to stay. Robin and Henry. Snow and David. They'll try to get her to sit down and take a break. Rest for a couple hours. (A Queen and mayor doesn't nap.)

She has to be stronger, mustn't let them keep her.

Bad things happen when she lets her guard down. Things like Henry being caught by Cruella, Gold having the upper hand with the author, or her soulmate being tricked by her sister.

Not anymore.

She's done. Done playing fate's silly little games. She'll find the author. She'll set everything right again. Her happy ending is right around the corner, and she'll have Henry and Robin and the three idiots by her side when she gets it. (Yes, Emma is one of them now. Despite Regina's best efforts to keep her son's other mother daughter at arm's length, the blonde is rather insistent on being her friend.) Regina will have it all. She's worked hard enough; she deserves it.

She'll drop the vial and go. She repeats the thought to herself like a mantra.

If she stays, she'll be giving them the means to prevent her from carrying out her plan. Time is the most precious ammunition she has, and the author is slipping through her fingers with every ticking second. She can't risk it. They can give the potion to Roland themselves; it's simple enough. She doesn't need to stick around.

She breathes in, exhales loudly, bracing herself mentally before crossing the remaining distance between herself and the door. No distractions. Go in. Hand over the potion to Robin. Slip out. No questions asked.

Naturally, her plan fails. She should have seen it coming.

They're all sitting around the kitchen table when she walks in: the unCharmings next to the wall, facing Roland and Henry, Robin on the far side of the table by the living room, next to his son.

His attention darts to the door when it opens, just in time for her to witness the change in his eyes as he takes her in: the cloud of worry and self-hatred goes away, relief filling those intense blue orbs she's often dreamt of. He stands and rushes around the table in one movement, arms wide open, ready to engulf her in a hug.

Regina's muscles stiffen in response as if pinned down in place with heavy metal. Her jaw hangs slightly open and her heartbeat quickens, thudding against her ribcage so loudly she feels it up in her ears. The front door remains open behind her, momentarily forgotten while she stares dumbfoundedly at Robin, stopped dead in his tracks on her side of the table, arms still hanging in mid-air.

They drop to his sides the moment he realizes exactly how he'd reacted and _which_ reflex had kicked in when he saw her. Shame comes back like a tidal wave and washes over his face, and the steadfast determination she'd found after leaving Zelena in her cell is replaced with a familiar pang of self-blame. It lodges itself inside her chest where it belongs and twists in the knife, weaving in the sharp edge where it hurts the most.

Regina fights back the wince of pain that accompanies the pinching of her heart as she's left to stare powerless as Robin's face falls in front of her, and she hates it – hates how stoic and insensitive this situation forces her to be.

(The truth is she could have used that hug.)

To crave a comfort that's not hers to have, to wish for things to go back to the way they were won't actually get her back to that place of happiness she's long sought. She needs to focus.

Yearning for Robin as she does is the first threat to her resolve.

The second happens moments later. A fresh flow of guilt careens through her body as Roland's sweet, singsong voice reaches her ears, his "Hi, Regina!" dooming her to spend time in this apartment.

(She can't ignore the innocent little boy.)

Slowly regaining movement in her neck, she inclines her head to get a better look at him. Robin's boy is beaming up at her with a matching set of dimples – dimples that had mellowed the Evil Queen and are having the exact same (unwanted) effect on Regina. Damn genetics.

Roland's attention doesn't stay on her for long. His eyes drop back to the bowl of cereal with milk he was eating when she came in (or judging by the milk quantity, a bowl of milk with cereal), unsuspecting as to the power she holds over his future in the palm of her hand. It kills her that she has to do this, wipe a child of his memories. Even if it's Robin's decision in the end, she'd strongly advised it and he hadn't been – isn't – in the right frame of mind to make a decision on his own, so whatever happens, it's on her, too.

Magic always comes with a price, and Roland shouldn't have to pay it. Not him. Not her precious little knight.

Henry is next to him, facing a cupboard-clean bowl, no leftover milk flooding the bottom, and studying his mother with inquisitive eyes. Regina looks away briefly, down at her feet – her not-so-little prince isn't eating, and it's her fault. He's too old for her to successfully hide things from him, knows better than to foolishly think everything is fine when tension fills the air as soon as she walks into the room.

Her energy should be spent finding the author or fighting her sister, but all she can think about is how this mess is affecting her son.

Third flinch.

She should have stuck to the plan: drop the potion and leave. She hasn't been in the room for five minutes, and it's already been blown to hell, too late to back away. She'll have to talk her way out.

Case in point, Robin's had enough time to refocus and aim for another approach. He makes a move towards the bedroom, motioning for her to follow, and since she still has the potion in hand, it's not like she has a choice in the matter. She can't leave it on the table with the others or Roland could ask questions – a course of action everyone in the room would rather avoid. So she steps in after Robin, leaving the Charmings and Henry in the kitchen to keep an eye on the younger child.

She doesn't miss the look that passes between her son and his grandparents as she walks past them; tries, unsuccessfully, to ignore it. Nothing can be kept secret in this family, and there's no one to blame but herself for Henry's loss of innocence. She's his mother. She's supposed to protect him, yet here he is, looking out for her when he shouldn't have to worry about her wellbeing at all.

(Mothering is the one thing Regina can't bear to fail at.)

She needs to put this Zelena business behind her, and fast. She wants to be happy again, like she'd told Henry, as she'd been when it was only her and her son and Robin and Roland.

But the three of them, her three boys, their lives are at stake because of her.

Mother had been right.

 _Love is weakness._

They're out of earshot, behind the curtain separating Snow and David's bedroom from the rest of the apartment when Robin questions, "Do you have it?" snapping her out of her dark daydreams. "He started asking questions when he woke up, and I–"

She opens her palm to reveal the vial. "Here. Mix this with juice or milk," she instructs, interrupting him. "It doesn't have the best taste." Unless Roland has developed a fondness for gnome earwax.

Robin picks up the potion somewhat hesitantly and holds it at eye-level, turning the small bottle in his hand and studying the clear liquid it contains. He shakes it; frowns, purses his lips.

He finds her eyes, and Regina can tell he's weighing this whole memory potion business. She'd have misgivings, too, if this were Henry. As a parent herself, she understands where Robin is coming from, but Roland's only five, and no child his age should have to live with knowledge that has two adults torn up inside.

It's why she can't stop the the "Second thoughts?" from passing her lips even though she should know better than to invite discussion. She has to bolt out the apartment after the author as soon as she possibly can; she can't allow herself lapses in concentration. They're beginner's mistakes, below a Queen such as herself. Emotionality has never conquered kingdoms; cunning plans and strategy, now that's the key.

"Are you sure this is the right thing to do?" Robin finally asks after a few loaded seconds, a slight quaver to his voice despite visibly trying to keep it steady. It takes all of Regina's resolve not to take him into her arms, especially when he's looking at her as if she holds the answers to every question running wildly in his head. As if _she_ is the answer.

But enough straying from her goal.

"I know this is the only way Roland isn't going to ask about his mother," she answers truthfully, trying to keep her voice cold. Magic shouldn't be the solution to a family problem, but since said problem was caused by magic, she guesses they can use it for once, deal with the consequences later.

Robin nods, as he'd done at the bar, a broken _Thank you_ leaving his lips.

She bobs her head in response, biting the inside of her cheek nervously. It's a bad habit, one Mother would frown upon, and Gods know today is the last day she should be thinking about Cora, especially after Zelena's smug revelation. She doesn't need another reminder of that fateful night. (Not that she regrets it. She never could. It'd been the right decision at the time; she knows that – but what of Robin? What would he think if he knew?)

One hand flies to her stomach and covers the never-existent swell as silence envelops them like a blanket – one of those made out of cheap wool that chafes skin until it's red and itchy – making Regina more and more uncomfortable by the minute.

Robin's arms have fallen limply next to his body, one hand still holding on to the precious vial. His eyes are fixed on a floorboard somewhere past her feet, shoulders hunched forward, and she wishes there was a way she could alleviate the burden of responsibility he's carried over from New York.

(Perhaps there is, if she finds the author.)

She needs to go. Now.

"I'll be back later," she announces, ready to head back to the other room, but alarmed eyes dart back to her, preventing her from taking a full step.

Robin stutters, "You– you're not staying?"

"I have other things to take care of," she replies, the vague nature of her answer making his brows knit together.

"But Roland…" he starts, and she really doesn't have time for this.

"Roland will be fine," she returns curtly, needing to leave before Robin can coax her into staying. "I mixed the potion with a sleeping draught," she explains, hoping to suppress his apprehensions. "He'll sleep for a few hours, and wake up as if the last three months never happened."

But her reassuring words do nothing to ease his worry. On the contrary, Robin seems slightly agitated, looks everywhere but at her, and it's only after a few minutes staring at him irately as he grows more and more anxious that it hits her.

 _You stupid girl_.

She knows – should have remembered – how untrustworthy Robin found magic to be. He'd mentioned having lost many people to the lure of the dark arts when they first starting seeing each other. She doesn't know the details, but the nervousness radiating from him tells her enough. His life is already in free fall; he doesn't need yet another variable he can't control.

"The potion is harmless," she tells him; she's made sure of that herself, "but it is magic." She won't lie to him. "Everyone reacts differently to it."

In the end, her honesty wins him over. Robin's still obviously wary of the idea, she can tell, but he acknowledges her with a dip of his chin and shoves the potion inside his pocket. It is, after all, the best solution they have – the _only_ solution they have. Regina wishes she could offer him more in terms of reassurances, but time is running out. She's already been here much longer than she was supposed to.

She quickly returns his nod with one of her own, is about to slip through the drapes and into the adjoining room when his voice reaches her ears again.

"Regina?"

She sighs, drops her shoulders, and snaps, "What?" _What now?_

Robin immediately cowers, and _shit,_ this isn't what she meant – well, it is, but not in _that_ way. She hadn't meant to kick him in the gut again. She's slowly losing control over her emotions; they've been raging and storming, thundering inside her, and her reply had come out more sharp than she intended.

(She really does need to leave.)

Robin is already opening his mouth, undoubtedly to let out a flow of apologies she doesn't deserve, not when she's the one who raised her voice.

She tries again, softer this time, "What is it?"

He wets his lips, squaring his shoulders, straightening his back one vertebra at a time. He looks old, frail almost, or maybe he reminds her of a toddler facing his biggest fear; there's an odd duality about him Regina can't place, and she aches for him, this leader, this father, this strong, strong man – fragile man – building himself back up in front of her eyes, broken pieces awkwardly fitting together.

"What about us?"

His words hang between them, a whisper that barely leaves his lips, and rightly so; the others awaiting their return probably have ears stretched thin towards the bedroom, listening in to their private conversation. Snow White is surely having a field day back there, hearing confessions not meant for her just like she had in the past.

Robin doesn't look at her until the question is out in the open, but he meets her gaze dead on when he finally does, and Regina knows there's no way to avoid the question this time. It's taken him a long enough time to gather the necessary strength to ask her about them, the resolve in his eyes tells her he's not letting her leave without an answer.

Regina had somewhat turned him down and left the question open at the bar, and hoped she'd get away with it, because now that he's asked her again, she can't think of a reply.

She sucks in a breath, trying to quell her accelerating heart rate, the organ hammering the inside of her chest.

It would be so easy to fall back into his waiting arms, to pretend everything will work out for the best if only they're together. But it's too dangerous to hope, lest she ends up hurting again. She's been down this road before, and it'd only ended badly for all parties involved. The only way to prevent their future from being doomed to the same perpetual fate is to leave here and find the author. Only he can ensure their happy ending is possible.

Their story has always been about timing, and here and now, the timing isn't right. She still has too much to do.

"I need time," she finally replies, trying vainly to tame the uncontrollable yearning taking hold of her.

She feels torn in two distinct halves: one waiting to be released from its self-imposed confines and run to Robin, have him hold her; the other clamming up and restructuring her walls for protection against imminent destruction, heartbreak she knows is bound to come sooner or later.

Robin allows her to leave without stopping her this time, and she aims for the exit as soon as she's through the curtains, throwing the thin fabric into a whirlwind with her swift pace.

Regina has a hand on the doorknob when Snow asks, "Where are you going?" and her shoulders tense immediately.

"Does it matter?" Her tone is clear; she doesn't want questions asked.

She catches a glimpse of Robin in the corner of her eye. He's joined them in the main room, a hunched figure leaning back against the kitchen island, secluded from the rest of them, listlessly observing the scene happening by the door. She knows he'd vote in favour of her staying here; he's letting her go against his will because he knows trying to stop her will only result in a shouting match they'd both rather avoid.

There's been enough pain without knowingly causing more. Someone has to put a stop to his.

Zelena _has_ to pay.

If you ask Regina, her sister had given up her second chance months ago. She'd been offered redemption before, as she contemplated spending eternity wasting away inside a cell, but she'd carelessly tossed it out the window, not a care in the world for the rift it'd opened between them.

Zelena had made her choice then; now, Regina's making hers.

She'd warned her sister there wouldn't be another chance. Zelena could have had a seat at the family table, but she'd rejected it, and now nothing will stop Regina from using the author against her sister. She'll even crush her rotten heart herself if she has to, just like she'd threatened to do before she… _died_ (oh, the cruel irony – Regina had been so disappointed by Zelena's apparent suicide).

Her sister thinks she has it all figured out, that Regina won't dare end her life because of the baby she's carrying. And perhaps she's right. Regina's been down that road with Robin before; Marian had been her prisoner, and for all intents and purposes, the Evil Queen would have killed her, had Emma and Hook (and Zelena) not interfered with the past. While Robin may have forgiven her past sins, he'd never condone her ruthlessly killing innocents. And innocent the baby is, as much as she's loath to admit it.

So, no, perhaps Regina won't kill her sister.

Fortunately, there are far worse things than dying in this world.

Her sister will regret not taking that second chance when it was within arm's reach. She's hurt too many people now – the wrong people – to ever be forgiven.

Just like Mother had…

(She really needs to stop thinking of Cora.)

Zelena's words to her the first time she was imprisoned echo in her head: _Mother did all that for you to achieve greatness_. She'd said it with conviction, with such blind faith in who Cora was that it'd sent bile rushing up Regina's throat – still does. Zelena doesn't understand – doesn't _want_ to understand – how manipulative Cora had been, how being left in that forest had been the greatest gift she could ever have received from Mother. On the contrary, Zelena's thirst for acceptance has led her to see the world through Cora's eyes, and her sister strongly believes everything that's happened in the past has been Regina's sole fault. _She'd_ rejected her mother when she had no reason to; _she_ hadn't been appreciative of Cora's thoughtfulness in her regard.

Regina can feel tears pricking her eyes at the thought.

If any small part of Zelena's beliefs were true, she wouldn't feel her insides ache at the mere memory of a potion she'd drunk over thirty years ago. She wouldn't feel the burn low in her stomach as if she'd just downed it, leaving irreparable scars behind – scars her sister had reopened, bleeding a fresh new darkness into her soul. A new resolve.

She won't let Zelena, or Gold, or anyone destroy everything she holds dear. She'll avenge Robin. Roland, too. She'll find the author and make him fix it.

And then she'll be happy. They'll _all_ be happy.

"I need to go," Regina states urgently, avoiding the concerned glances of everyone in the room.

She's out the door before they can try to stop her, any argument they might have had lost to her as she runs down the stairs, mind closed to trespassers, and she disappears in a cloud of purple smoke the moment she can no longer be seen from the apartment.

They're not stupid enough to follow.

 **::**

Robin lets the cold toast fall back to his plate, the four bites he's managed to take sitting heavy in his stomach.

He's sitting at the kitchen island, sharing a late breakfast with Henry, who's been more than obliging since Snow White and David left with Maleficent. The lad needn't have done half the things he did for Robin (distracting him with chats about superheroes, making slightly burnt toast), but he'd done it wholeheartedly and without grudge, a kindness Robin doesn't know how to repay.

Roland is on the sofa, sleeping off the effects of the forgetting potion. They'd laced it with his second glass of milk as per Regina's instructions, and the magical concoction had gone down his son's throat without a fuss. He's sure to wake any minute now, and Robin has every intention for them both to leave when he does. They've outstayed their welcome enough as it is.

He feels like excess weight on this family. He doesn't need to be here; certainly doesn't deserve to be. He should have gone back to his camp with Roland the moment Regina left, but the Princess had insisted he stayed, claiming he was speaking nonsense, that he was more than welcome in their home for as long as he wanted. Their door was open to any friend of the family, and that's exactly what he was. (If only he could be that.)

Robin stares at the piece of toast on his plate, a pang of guilt tugging at his heart as he looks over to Henry who's gobbling up his third slice of bread. He doesn't mean to be ungrateful, and he isn't, but recent events had substantially decreased his appetite, and the mere sight of food had been enough to make his belly clench.

The quiet mumble of _Daddy… Daddy?_ comes just in time from the living room and gives Robin the excuse he needs to abandon his seat and scramble for his son, leaving the cold food he's either way not eating on the kitchen island.

He's by Roland's side in five strides, lifting the boy into his arms the first chance he gets, breathing a relieved sigh when he feels tiny arms wrapping around his neck.

His son will be alright.

The thought has him pause completely for the first time since Regina knocked on his door last night. Life may be far from ideal, their future, separately or as a family, somewhere up in the air, but at least Roland's memories will be free of his father's mistakes. Those are Robin's burden to bear alone; Roland is too young to be mixed up in this mess he's made.

He tightens his hold on his son's small body, earning him a soft, unconvincing whine of _Daddy, you're hurting me!_ but Robin doesn't heed it. Instead, he spins them around, as fast as humanly possible, his boy's complaint morphing into a musical giggle, a gleeful squeal for Robin's lonesome ears.

He slows them down, crouching so Roland's feet can touch the ground, and the last of his gloomy mood is broken by his son's dimpled grin, the effect immediate: Robin answers with one of his own, ruffling the mop of brown hair on his son's head. Then, just as they're settling down, he sneaks a hand to his son's waist and pokes playfully at his belly, making Roland squirm with delight.

When his laughter subsides, his son begins taking in their unfamiliar surroundings, glancing around skeptically. Ever the curious boy, there's not an ounce of nervousness about him as he cranes his neck right and left, scrunching up his nose when he can't find what he's looking for (understandably, they've never been here before).

After another minute of unsuccessful perusal, Roland faces him again. "What is this place?"

Robin smiles. "You remember Princess Snow?"

Roland nods eagerly.

"This is where she lives in this land," he says, gesturing the room around them. "You remember what I told you about this land, Roland?"

Another enthusiastic movement of brown hair. "Yes! This is where Henry is!"

Robin cocks his head to glance at the young man in question, who's been observing the scene silently from the dining area, leaning against the table. Henry is stunned to be mentioned, wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape as he straightens his back, and he really does look like his mother when he's told he's special, Robin notes. Neither of them expects it, yet, he and Regina, they're far from ordinary. They make people want to be the best version of themselves, and it takes very special people to achieve that.

Robin looks back at this son. "Do you want to meet Henry?"

Roland's vigorous bob of his head drags a chuckle out of Robin. He lets go of his son's waist as he stands; motions Henry over.

The teenager takes a few awkward steps forward, as if unsure how to proceed. He shouldn't be so worried, Robin thinks; Roland has hero-worshipped him soon after Regina had begun regaling him with stories of the older boy during the missing year. He'll have no problem winning his son over; the job's already half-done.

Instinctively, Henry bends down to Roland's height, a gesture that has warmth flooding from Robin's heart and through his veins; has him longing for impossible things: a family of four and a big brother for his son. Henry would be wonderful in the role – he already is – but the thought isn't one Robin should be entertaining, not when things between Henry's mother and him have yet to be settled. (He pictures a framed family photo on the mantelpiece of Regina's office, another one on her desk, the same way Snow White and her Prince have theirs distributed all around their house.)

"Hi Roland. I'm Henry," the teenager says, and Robin tears his gaze away from the picture of the Princess and her daughter, back to the two boys in front of him.

Roland doesn't move at first, transfixed by Henry's interest in him. He stares at the teenager's outstretched hand in wonder, nervously peeking up at his father, then back to Henry, to Robin again, and the latter has to nod encouragingly for his son to extend his small hand to take Henry's.

From Robin's point of view, the handshake is a success. Robin is positively beaming, and Henry has made a new friend for life.

"You know my mother, Roland?" Henry asks, unknowingly starting on one of Roland's favourite subjects: the Queen. His boy's fascination with Regina only rivals his own, Robin knows, and Henry is about to discover it.

At the mention of the Queen, Roland gasps with excitement and pipes up, "Yes! Regina promised to show me ice cream!" and Robin's heart drops to his stomach.

Ice cream.

With Regina.

It feels like so long ago now, and he recalls the evening in question with equal measures of fondness and melancholy, as the last time things were uncomplicated. When they'd gotten their missing memories back, Regina had told Roland she'd steal him away for ice cream one day, and whatever memories his son has been left with, he remembers the promise, but not the fulfilment of it.

Regina had spent the first evening of their victory over the Wicked Witch with Henry, and he with his son, but they'd set a lunch and ice cream date for the following day. Lunch had happened (a memory still quite vivid in Robin's mind); ice cream, too.

Then Granny's.

And Marian.

Though, it hadn't been Marian, but Zelena, manipulating every last pawn on the board, immersing herself into their lives again – literally a shadow of the past – destroying them piecemeal until misery was all that was left of the second chance Regina and he had both battled so hard for.

It was the first time he'd broken Regina's heart; sadly, not the last.

Hindsight is of no help to numb the pain of his failure. Each day, hour, minute spent in Zelena's company lies heavy on Robin's conscience, the wound already old in feeling in spite of the short time that's passed since the blow.

"Are we getting ice cream tonight, papa?" Roland repeats, forcing Robin out of his self-inflicted despondency.

A look at Henry tells him the boy is torn, rightfully so. The responsibility to answer Roland's expectations should not rest upon on his shoulders, but words fall short of Robin's mouth, unable as he is to crush his son's hopes.

They're as much his own, even forbidden.

He can't possibly commit to an outing he knows isn't likely to happen. While Regina and he had been amicable in the car, they currently live in uncertainty as to the status of their relationship. To mislead his son into believing he has the power to make such an event happen is to start on a similar path to the life they've been living for three months, and Robin won't do that. He can't let another lie cross his lips; there have been too many – _will be more_ because Roland can never know the true origin of his younger sibling.

No, today, Robin can't lie. But neither can he offer a satisfactory explanation to the denial he's about to make of Roland's request. (To say his son's memories have been wiped for the sole purpose of making things easier on him – so much for that. Too much has changed for life to ever be as simple as it was before that fateful evening.)

Henry saves the day.

"We'll go," he tells Roland, startling the boy's father with his unwavering assurance.

Both Robin and his son glance at Henry, the same dumbfounded expression on their faces.

The teenager meets Robin's eyes with a determination the older man has lacked since this ordeal started. Henry's message is clear: Robin is not to give up. If he does, Zelena wins, and this isn't an outcome either of them want.

Henry's attention drops back to Roland. "Mom's busy right now, but we'll go for ice cream in a few days," he says, the wisp of a smile on his face. (Henry's right. To wallow in his self-pity is to concede victory to Zelena. The thought is starting to make his way into Robin's mind.) "The four of us," Henry adds as an afterthought, sending Robin's heart into a stutter, stunning him into silence just as he was beginning to find his courage.

Tears of gratitude prickle at the corner of his eyes, no utterance of thanks enough to measure up to how beholden to Henry Robin is. Regina's son has just saved him from disappointing his own boy for the umpteenth time in nine weeks, and made sure the invitation to go for ice cream looks more like a friendly play-date and less like Robin trying to corner Regina into something he isn't sure she wants.

Henry has also thrust his own confidence and strength upon Robin, choosing to entrust him with his mother and his mother's heart despite what's happened. Robin knows from experience that is no easy leap to make, his own desire to protect Regina one of the very reasons why he's so hesitant to get close to her again. Henry's trust means everything under the current circumstances.

Still, his words, while acting as a balm to Robin's open wounds, don't stop the sad frown pulling Roland's features down when he's told he can't see Regina just yet. Robin would normally discourage such pouting, to teach his son the world doesn't revolve around what he wants, but he's doesn't have it in him to be disciplinarian today.

During the missing year, the Queen had constantly been looking for escapes from tedious council meetings and overcrowded halls and taken a liking to his boy, babysitting a few times while Robin and his men went hunting. It had resulted in Roland becoming as smitten as his father, and the memory potion he's just ingested has brought those memories to the forefront of his mind: bedtime stories and garden walks, sumptuous balls and horse rides, times where Regina only had eyes for him. Wherever they'd meet, be it in the halls or the privacy of her chambers, Roland would create a smile where her carefully poised scowl seemed permanently fixed and transform her tear-stained face into a breathtaking picture of mirth and grace.

These events feel like a lifetime ago to Robin, but merely a few weeks have passed for his son. So yes, he'll let the pout slide for today.

"When will we see Regina, daddy?" Roland tries again, eyes drifting from Henry to his father innocently, seeking a positive answer instead of a rebuttal.

He has Marian's eyes, his boy: big, shining brown orbs that can mold Robin to their every will, dark pools he hates to disappoint and has a hard time saying no to.

"Soon," he tells his son, his own hopes seeping into the reply.

Roland's chin drops to his chest with a bounce as he purses his lips and sighs overdramatically.

Robin would laugh if he didn't feel responsible.

"Want to see my toys, Roland?" Henry asks, diverting the boy's attention back to him.

If Robin had been speechless before, gratefulness courses through his veins even faster at this, making his knees weak with astonishment. He's a far stretch from deserving this family.

Roland peers up at his father for permission.

"Of course, you can," Robin stammers, slowly coming out of his shocked state.

"Go up to my room," Henry instructs. "I'll be right behind you."

Roland doesn't need to be told twice. Sadness completely forgotten, he runs excitedly towards the stairs, slowing down to a walk when Robin reminds him to do so, but there's no mistaking the additional spring in his step as he climbs up to the second level of the apartment.

When Roland is far enough away, Henry turns to Robin. "Speaking of mom," he starts with an edge of worry, "she's been gone for a while. She said she'd be back soon."

"I think your mother is avoiding me."

Henry shakes his head. "No, that's not it... I have a bad feeling about this."

Never one to question to bond between mother and son, Robin asks, "What do you suggest?" and a plan is quickly devised.

 **::**

Their first stop after leaving the loft is Robin's camp.

Henry had gathered some toys (comic books and his gameboy, to Roland's greatest fascination), keeping his promise to his son, and they'd been off to meet the Merry Men less than twenty minutes after deciding to go after Regina.

Their arrival is met with stunned gasps and clasped hands, as well as manly tears and tight hugs when Robin recounts the events leading to his return sans Marian.

They regroup, all of them huddled close, and it's only then, amongst the forest and his men, for the first time since he's crossed the town line three months ago, that Robin feels at home.

It wasn't only Regina he'd left in Storybrooke, but his whole life, and seeing his camp still standing, his tent unoccupied and waiting dutifully for him, had clicked one of the missing pieces back in place.

He watches as Roland is lifted in the air and tossed around, passed from man to man with laughs and overwhelming amounts of affection, and his heart swells at the sight of his reunited family, a welcome change from the guilt and shame that had shadowed his emotions all morning.

Henry comes up next to him then, cutting the reunion short.

"We need to go," he reminds him. "Now." And there's no doubt as to who raised him when he takes command of the situation like that, with the same assertive tone and implacable face (less honed, of course) his mother has when she's in charge.

And he's absolutely right.

Today is not the day Robin gives up on Regina.

A chorus of shocked _what?!_ 's, _you can't seriously be leaving now_ and other similar objections start at Henry's announcement. Robin has to calm his men down and promise to come back and update them as soon as he can before he's allowed to follow the boy away from the camp.

John steps in after them, though, and the frown of ill omen on his face makes Robin pause.

He knows before John even speaks what his best friend's about to say, and the conversation isn't one Robin wants Henry to hear. Enough people have misgivings about his mother; the young lad doesn't need to know the Merry Men do, too. And yes, perhaps, it serves Robin's interest if he doesn't know, but he tells himself he'll have time to make it up to him.

Luckily for Robin, John and he seem to be on the same page about this little detail because his friend waits until the boy is several paces in front of them before speaking. "You're going after her," he says matter-of-factly, tone flat and (supposedly) judgement-free.

Robin knows a disapproving remark when he hears one.

They'd tried to understand, his men; made effort after effort in order to attempt a _glimpse_ at what exactly it was Robin saw in the Queen. A vain endeavour throughout their year at the castle, that's what it'd been, followed by a lot of confusion and hurt feelings at Marian's supposed return from the dead. Every time, though, they'd respected his choice; they were friends who knew better than to let disagreements over women pull them apart.

But his men had also been Marian's friends, and to them, Regina was everything Marian was not. Choosing the Queen over his wife had been a double-edged sword that had drawn more blood than Robin cares to admit.

"It's always been her," he replies, even though it's not the answer John wants to hear.

As usual, his friends dips his chin, in acceptance only, and leaves him to catch up to Henry alone, turning around to join Roland and the rest of their merry band at the roaring fire.

 **::**

Robin still can't believe no one has bothered to check on Regina all day.

With all the family and friends she has in this town, they should know better than to leave her alone in times like these. Distance and trust are good traits to show her, and Robin won't deny she needs them, but sometimes a little close hovering is needed, even if it riles her up.

It's a risk Henry and he are willing to take as they set out on their search.

The vault is empty, the mansion, too, and it's only then that they realize they've been looking for the wrong person. It's not Regina they need to find, but Zelena, and Henry knows exactly where to go.

They half-run to the hospital (Henry offers to drive, but Robin tells him he doesn't need more reasons to be on his mother's bad side today), only stopping when they're standing in front of the door to the asylum, unsurprisingly locked. They wouldn't be so lucky as to find it open, but Henry smirks and confidently punches in a set of numbers. The result is immediate: the light switches to green.

Robin throws him a questioning look.

"Mom's predictable," he declares with a smug teenage shrug that would no doubt give Regina wrinkles and doesn't enlighten Robin in the slightest, and only when the latter points it out does Henry supply, "My birthday," and Robin _ahhs_ knowingly. Of course.

But then the door is open, and none of them make a move toward it.

Henry motions for Robin to go first, but the older man stays where he is, apprehensively contemplating his options. What is he going to say to Regina when he sees her? Does he even have the right to worry as he does? They're not together anymore. Or are they? He knows he wants nothing more than a second (third?) chance at keeping her heart safe – but what does _she_ want? She'd told him she needed time, but Robin worries timing may never be on their side.

"Perhaps you should go alone," he tells Henry, deciding it's best for him to wait outside.

He doesn't want to risk angering Regina, and he'll be right here when she comes up. She'll see he accompanied her son, and maybe that's enough progress for today.

"Why?" Apparently, not for Henry.

Robin sighs. "I'm afraid I took rather poor care of your mother's heart," he admits with a twinge of regret. "It's probably best I stay away."

Henry shakes his head decisively. "Don't you see? That's exactly why it needs to be you." He leans back against the door to keep it open. "Go," he near orders. "I'll come down in twenty if you're not back," and he says it with such faith in his abilities, Robin has no choice but to go with it. He only hopes Henry's trust in him isn't misplaced.

Pushing aside the anxious feeling knotting his stomach, Robin takes the steps down to where Regina keeps her sister, and it seems he'd been wrong to fear earlier.

For once, he's just in time.

 **::**

They exit Zelena's cell in a hurry, Regina taking a second to secure the lock and magically seal the door after them. Author on the run or not, the necessary precautions must be taken against her sister.

She's already halfway to the stairs when Robin stops her, reaching for her hand.

"Wait," he requests as he's done once before, and when she turns around, he meets her halfway, fingers tangling in silken locks of raven hair. It's slightly longer than he recalls, but he's not complaining; he'd loved it long during the missing year, endless waves cascading down her back which he could only dream to touch.

It feels both new and familiar now, a breath of fresh air passing through his lungs, carrying scents of spices and apples to his nose, ones he remembers from that night in her vault, as he places a sweet, tender kiss to her lips because he _can_. Because he wants to see the way her eyes light up the way they're doing just now, the way her smile widens for him and only him – that half-coy, half-carefree smile he's missed so much. The idea of rushing into action without letting Regina know just how proud he is of her is unfathomable to Robin. She's come so far in the time he's known her, further even since he's left Storybrooke, and he'll make sure she leaves here with no more doubts as to where he stands. (And that is beside her, always.)

They're startled apart when a coughing reaches their ears, the nurse behind the counter glaring at them with contempt, as if their small display of affection is something to be frowned upon.

She gets to Regina, has her dipping her head sheepishly, but Robin will have none of it. He frames her jaw with his hands and forces her to look at him, pouring everything his heart feels into his gaze.

To his delight, her confidence seems to return slowly, in time with her angelic smile, and he breaks into a smile in turn, too happy himself to care about the insignificant approval of a nurse in an underground care facility. His hands slowly brush their way down the concavity of her neck, over her shoulders and down her arms, until he can clasp her hands in his, intertwining their fingers. He knows they have to leave this place; Henry's waiting upstairs and the author is on the loose, but he'll allow himself one last comment before they go.

"Strict visitation rights?" he quotes her, a question hidden in his tone.

He doesn't really need to ask; he'd known from her words inside Zelena's cell that Regina's need to be away from him was over. The timing was finally right. He's hers, and she's his, but Robin can't let her go without some good-natured ribbing, without reassuring her, and them, that the moment they're sharing now is but one amongst many to come. (He'd go so far as to say they share _forever_ now, but it seems like an awfully big commitment to make when he's just got her back. So he'll focus on the present; they have the rest of their lives for forever.)

The road ahead might not be easy, but he knows without a doubt they can make it work.

He trusts her. He's seen her heart. It's red at the core, beautiful with its scars and black spots, depictions of endurance and accomplishments, and he intends to never lose it again. He'll be right by her side for the foreseeable future.

Whatever it holds.

 **::**

Regina's mind reels, and her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip. She's equal parts elated by the look in Robin' eyes, passionate and caring, and thoughtful because of his words.

They hadn't discussed the baby yet when she'd gone and told her sister they'd limit her visits, and doubt creeps up her spine, sending shivers down the way it came.

She swallows, pushes back against the growing discomfort. "You're not upset?" she checks with him, then explains in the same breath, "I got caught up in the moment, I had to say something before she–"

"Upset?" Robin interrupts with an incredulous gasp before she's had a chance to go on and on about her fears (which will appear to be quite ridiculous when he's done talking). "Regina," he starts again slowly, emphasizing every word, "there is _no one_ ," and he looks at her so intensely she thinks she might drown in the deep blue of his eyes, "I'd rather raise a child with than you."

Her own eyes well up at his words, and the momentary panic his question had awakened in her dissipates almost instantaneously. _Damn him_. Him and and his satisfied little smirk at making her speechless. She sniffles, won't let him make her cry (her condition can be discussed at a later time; there's no need to rush when they have forever), revels instead in the deep blue pools that stare at her with such affection her heart feels about ready to burst.

It's been far too long since someone – since _he_ – has looked at her this way. She may have fared well enough without him these past nine weeks, with Henry and Emma and the Charmings to keep her company, but now that she has him back, she's not letting him out of her sight. She wants to fight every battle with Robin's immovable presence next to her, hands clasped together, just as they are now, for better or for worse; to wake up to his scent in her sheets, his arms around her waist and her head on his chest.

She's even missed moments like these, short ones, lost ones amidst the chaos of their lives, where eternity is shared in a glance that lasts but a few seconds.

"I have to go," she says but makes no move to break eye contact. That she'd rather stay here with him is no well-guarded secret, but every minute they spend under the hospital is one less they'll have to stop the author from rewriting history, and whatever new life Isaac's planned for them undoubtedly dooms everyone they care about to some horrendous fate of his own liking.

They've already spent too much time staying still.

Robin bobs his head in agreement. "Go," he tells her with a proud smile, turning lopsided when he adds, "Save the town," as if it's a simple everyday occurrence. (Regina thinks considering their lives, it probably is.)

A small grin sneaks up on her, and she nods back, squeezing his hand one last time before stepping away, heading for the stairs under his prideful gaze.

As she's about the climb the first step, she stops, cranes her neck back to Robin, and asks tentatively, "Are you coming?" even though she knows he has Roland to take care of. It's selfish or her, perhaps, but she really does want him to come.

His reaction is nothing she expects. She'd thought a firm no – at the very least, some soft rebuttal on his part if he (irrationally) feared retaliation on her part – but Robin visibly melts at her words instead, tension Regina hadn't previously noticed leaving his shoulders.

He'd been waiting, she realizes. Her idiotic, stubborn thief had been waiting for her to ask, ready to let her go without so much as a complaint, only to respect whatever distance _he_ thought she needed there to be between them. (The answer is none; she doesn't want anything between them anymore.)

Armed with her new discovery, she takes a step back towards him, drawls a long _Sooo_ edging on flirtatious, and presses her lips into a thin line to fight the smirk that would jeopardize her superiority. Now that she knows what his answer's to be, her heart's taking liberties; in this moment, thudding violently against her ribcage of its own volition.

Nothing prepares Regina for the tenderness and adoration ( _love_ , her inner voice whispers) she spies in Robin's eyes when he says, "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

She nearly gasps, wonders if this is what being happy feels like: not fearing possible roadblocks, looking ahead and seeing nothing but them, Robin and she, together.

Right this second, Regina finds she doesn't care about the author's threat. She'd told her sister she was choosing happiness, and she has every intention to hold on to that feeling for as long as she can, wicked sisters and villainous authors be damned.

So when Robin's hand settles at the small of her back as they walk to her car, or when he eases her frustration with a handhold and supports her with an arm draped across her back at the Sorcerer's mansion, Regina doesn't push him away. Quite the contrary, she leans back into him, and allows herself to be held.

 **::**

Moments like these are hard to come by; in a life like yours, exquisitely rare.

You've learned to cherish them, to hold on to them like your last breath because who knows when the next one will be?

You can't believe you're here, at the top of the hill. Finally, you've climbed out of the darkness, the ruins you were trapped in far behind, and when you pull fresh air into your lungs, for the first time in a long while, it doesn't burn, only heals.

It'd been a maze, an eternity of torment at your feet. The only way out was to plunge into it, crawl through the cries and sobs of its previous victims, knowing you could be next – knowing every moment of your life had led you here. Because this punishment, it was what you deserved.

But you pulled yourself out. Just in time, before the curtain call, you're back on your feet, standing at the summit, and nothing can get to you.

Evil burns under the sun, and you're standing right under its rays, basking in the light that should always have been yours, protection from the hands that have for only mission haul you back in. The chains holding you unbind on their own, crumbling to dust and freeing you of a load you hadn't realized you were carrying.

It's merciful, beautiful. A new start.

High ground is the worst place to be.

The sun is bright and the sky blue. The birds sing and the wind blows. You walk on green springy turf, scattered with pink and blue and orange flowers. Leaves dance to the rhythm of the warm summer breeze, its presence comforting like a soft duvet, lulling you to sleep in its embrace.

Out here, there is only one thing that you know for sure –

(The funny thing about shadows is that they're never a thing of the past. You believe them gone, vanquished. But they creep up on you. The moment you aren't looking, the moment your attention slips, night falls, and there's nothing you can do to stop them from growing. This is the moment you're at their mercy.)

– only one thing happens to those standing at the edge of the world.

They fall.


	4. Chapter 4

With the Apprentice now released from his hat prison, they're forced to split up.

Snow, David and Hook head towards the loft with Henry to get to the page and key before Isaac can carry out his plan; Blue and August set off for the church to warn the other fairies, leaving Robin alone with Regina, Emma, and the man who's supposed to save them.

The outlaw should be following their example and be on his way, too – it's what the trio is waiting for to move on Gold's shop – but he can't bring himself to do it. Regina and he have just found each other again. If something goes wrong while he's away, he'd never forgive himself. The chances of coming out of a confrontation with the Dark One and some maniacal author hell bent on destroying their lives unscathed are slim to none. Robin doesn't want their few stolen minutes under the hospital to be all he's had to make up for the months of heartbreak they went through – months he feels responsible for.

But as he looks around, takes in the sights of the three people standing next to him, he recognizes he's a tad useless amongst this group of powerful magic practitioners. He'd only get in their way if he stayed – something Regina has forbidden him to do many times over – but his feet are loath to take the first step towards the sidewalk. He knows it's a reckless course of action, that Regina is far safer surrounded by two magicians than his comparatively lousy crossbow, but he'd prefer standing by her side as she heads into battle. They've been separated long enough; he can't stand to be again.

Lost in his thoughtful contemplation of the rooftops across the street, he doesn't register Regina's movements until she's standing right in front of him.

Her head cocks to the side, and the look on her face tells him she knows exactly what he's been thinking and won't hear it. "Go," she utters before he even has a chance to speak, "make sure Roland's fine." Her body sways forward at her words, as if to reach out to him, but her arms stay glued to her sides, leaving Robin to tuck his hands in his pockets in turn.

The Apprentice is keeping Emma entertained a few feet away. This moment is as close as they'll get to time alone, but Regina is busy composing herself, mentally going through every spell and trick or combination thereof she's learned over the years. Now isn't the time to distract her with his need to touch her – his need to make sure she's _real_ every chance he gets. She'd been a dream more often than not in recent weeks (dreams where her death was the last thing Robin saw before waking up in sweat, startled awake by the acute pain in his chest, and the only way he could go on another day in this godforsaken city he'd been forced to call home was remembering _his_ Regina was alive, even if lost to him forever), so there are times, like right now, where he looks at her and can't quite believe she's _here_.

And while he respects the distance she's putting between them for his supposed safety, he'll politely disagree with her request that he stay away from the action – since when does her glare stop him? – but before Robin can say anything, Regina's already asserting, "Emma and I have got this," and his mouth snaps back shut. There's no questioning her when she's using _that_ tone.

He changes tactics then, settles for a simple, "You're sure?" that won't have them arguing, but that'll give her a chance to change her mind. (A man can only hope.)

Regina's shoulders fall, but still a smile slides onto her lips – a small, tight-lipped upturn of a corner of her mouth, but a smile nonetheless. "I'm sure," she replies quietly, her shining dark irises pleading him to do as she says.

His lungs deflate, and a sigh escapes his mouth. He never could refuse those eyes.

Any argument he might have had dies short of his lips, and with this victory, Regina's soft edges disappear. Her gaze hardens as Robin stands and watches the tenderness with which she'd looked at him dissipate. She straightens her spine, takes a step back, square shoulders and lifted chin completing her transformation: a picture-perfect show of self-confidence.

Ever the Queen, he thinks bittersweetly, if it weren't for her eyes – eyes that tell their own story, independent of her body language, often times betraying the assurance her words and stance carry. The problem is very few care to spare a second look, and most of her life her misgivings had gone unnoticed, her insecurities unheard.

But Robin had noticed – notices. He'd spared many a glance in her direction over the last year and had learned the truth behind the mask. While she may fool the others with her demeanour, he isn't so easily gulled. This false show of confidence is one she's put up regularly in the forest, and it probably doesn't convince Emma either (the blonde has turned her head in their general direction despite her conversation with the Apprentice). The older man is probably the only one not picking up on Regina's reservations, but none of them one call her out on it.

Robin allows himself one last thoughtful warning before he lets her go. "Be careful," he says, only patronizing enough to make her smile.

"Aren't I always?" she responds, and he shakes his head at her cheeky attitude, unable to remove the half-grin anchored to his lips.

He's _missed_ her. So much.

But, just like that, it's over ( _again_ ). He has to leave her, and can only hope she'll come back to him in one piece.

He's already turned around when he hears his name being called, followed by a quiet _Wait._

Robin cranes his neck back toward the house, giving him just enough time to brace himself and turn on his heels before Regina crashes into his chest. His hands grab her waist as one of his feet darts behind for stability. Her hands fly up, yanking him to her, hungrily covering his mouth with her own.

It seems like his need for her is only rivaled by her need for him.

Robin spends the succeeding seconds too stunned to move, but when the surprise wears off, he returns the kiss with equal (selfish) passion. Spurred on by her appreciative moan, his hands grip her hipbones tighter to tug her forward, his mouth pressing harder against hers. Regina's breath comes out in short puffs of air against his lips whenever her lungs empty, but each time she closes the distance between them anew, showing no intention to stop just yet.

Her palms cup his cheeks, fingers running over his scruff in swift, greedy caresses that have him grunting at the back of his throat, but are so unlike Regina – unlike public Regina, anyway. Throwing herself at him when others are about to see isn't something she's in the habit of doing, and Emma and the Apprentice are just a few feet away, quite possibly enjoying this little show they're putting. Whatever is troubling her beautifully complex brain, whatever she's trying to erase with imprints of his touch, she doesn't want him figuring out because her hands keep him distracted. They brush down his neck and knead the muscles there, making it hard for Robin to concentrate on anything but the warm sensation of her palms on his flesh, but her nails suddenly dig into his nape, snapping him back to reality.

She's scared.

(He is, too.)

His neck stings where her fingers have surely left crescent-shaped dents on his skin, but that twinge of pain will go away in a moment, contrary to the one he's involuntarily caused her heart. The one neither of them is completely over.

Behind the fiery eagerness with which she'd thrown herself at him, Robin detects a slight tremble to her body. Her hands fumble to stay in place, losing their grip then smacking back against his flesh, and the whimper that passes her lips is not a statement to how good a kisser he is.

Her urgency feels final. She clutches at him, arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulling him closer as if the sky might fall on her head any moment, as if this kiss might be their last, and Robin can't have her thinking that. She can't lose hope after just finding it again.

This isn't goodbye.

They're done letting fate win, she'd said so herself. This parting of ways is only temporary; they both need to remember that.

Robin finds his focus again, even as her teeth bite into his bottom lip, a diversion that could have worked if he hadn't known her as well as he does. His hand leaves her waist and travels up her body, pushing a rebel strand of hair behind her ear as he slows down their kiss, tries to ease her desperation with a soft massage to her upper lip. His calloused thumb brushes against her jaw, tender and affectionate, stroking away the tension from her body.

Under his ministrations, the kiss comes to a natural end, but Robin doesn't release her just yet, cradling Regina's nape in his hand, bumping their foreheads familiarly. Their eyes remain fixed on each other's mouths, in need of more but forced to contemplate less, as their breathing evens and with it, their pent-up fears. Regina isn't shaking anymore, and his own heart is slowing down, though her knuckles are white with tension, still fisted at the lapels of his jacket.

Robin keeps one hand steady at her side, thumb rubbing mindless circles on her hip. He doesn't know if she can feel it through the fabric of her dress, but the action is soothing even for him, so he keeps it up, and she doesn't tell him to stop. They stand still for a few minutes, as long a rest as their current situation allows. Once he's confident that her intake and release of air are again a calming process and not a taxing one, he pulls back and looks at her. A smile forms on his lips when he catches sight of her more relaxed state, and this is better. Definitely better.

"I'll see you when this is over," he promises, keeping his tone as light as he can manage. "And then we'll talk."

Regina licks her lips, offers him small nod. She takes the first step back, disentangling their arms, and it's all it takes for their moment to be over. Her brows furrow in determination, her intention to give the author a piece of her mind clearly written on her face. With the cracks in her armour sealed tight, she's a striking picture of unshakable resolution, and Robin's heart swells with pride, struck again by how much she's grown.

Mind relatively at peace, he's finally able to make his way down the street, but before he turns around, he casts one last glance, not in Regina's direction, but toward Emma, waiting patiently a few feet away with the Apprentice.

He may only have been in town for a short time, but he knows he and the sheriff both wish for the same thing: for Regina to find the happiness she has long sought. And that's enough for Robin to trust her, this woman everyone calls the Savior – an awfully exacting job around these parts, or so he's gathered.

It's as if she's waiting for him; Emma is looking straight at him before he even tilts his head, and their gazes lock instantly when Robin glances her way. Regina would probably be appalled should she become aware of their silent agreement, but the whole exchange goes unbeknownst to her for she has her back turned to Robin and Emma appears to be looking out in no particular direction. The blonde acknowledges him with a nod, message received loud and clear: she's in charge of Regina's safety.

Robin thanks her with a slight bow, and only then, armed with the reassurance that someone will have Regina's back while he's away, can he bring himself to walk back toward his camp.

 **::**

The fiery warmth ricochets down her arms and to the tip of her fingers.

Her knuckles are stiff when she opens her hands, her nails biting into her palms when she fists them again. The action quells the flame before it erupts and burns, keeps Regina on her toes and her mind from wandering too far.

There'd been a time when a sentimental slip such as her behaviour outside the Apprentice's house would have resulted in a firm scolding. _Only meek and weak people give in to such displays of affection, Regina_ , Mother would say, and by letting herself be guided by her emotions, she was no better than a lowly commoner. How could she set her sights so low after everything Cora had sacrificed for her? How could she, when she could achieve so much more? Even now, with her mother long dead and buried, Regina braces herself to hear her cold, reprimanding tone in her mind any minute.

But Mother remains silent, and so does every other voice usually raging for control: the dread, the self-loathing, the hatred. They all keep quiet.

It's a reprieve Regina hadn't dreamed of, another victory to add to the list, one that has a drop of water prickling at the corner of her eye with relief. Hopefully, Isaac's name will soon follow Cora's, and they can be done with this quest for her happy ending. She knows now it's been within her grasp right from the start; she'd simply needed multiple trials to realize it.

A lick of guilt still remains, though, at the thought that her search for the author has allowed the villains the upper hand. Gold has the author on his side, and Gods know what kind of wrongful universe they've planned for everyone the town. They must be stopped, and Regina won't let herself rest until they've been taken care of. It's the least she can do.

She's mentally cataloguing their chances of success – feeble, at best – when she suddenly loses her footing. One minute she's walking next to Emma; the next, she's lying on her back, an invisible force preventing her from getting up.

Dark spots start filling her vision, each one carrying with it a memory, successive flashes of her greatest triumphs and failures. She feels them being stripped from her one by one, plucked from her brain forever, everything that makes her who she is slipping away and leaving her to fend for herself: Daniel, Cora, Snow, the King, Rumplestiltskin, Henry – both of them – and Robin. She knows without a doubt this is the last moment she'll ever think of them. How she knows, she can't say, but she takes the given time to say goodbye, before she's completely forgotten them.

The black kernels expand until the sky is painted black and Storybrooke is but a fragile string of memories threatening to break. As much as she'd like to, there's no fleeing this. Whichever evil is responsible for the current destruction of their past, and possibly their future as well, has made sure escaping this plight is an impossible task.

Regina wonders if this will turn out to be another one of those times when her soul almost succeeds in withdrawing from her body, only to be yanked back to a reality even harsher than the one it tried to leave.

That's how it'd been the other times she'd nearly died.

The darkness is thick around her now. A dark, unmovable velvet cloud, lulling her to sleep.

When she wakes up, sunlight filters through the trees and reaches the opening of the trunk she inhabits, casting shapeless halos of light around her hiding place. There's a ragged wool blanket thrown hastily over her, greying due to years of exposure to dust and dirt, covered with holes, a negligible protection against the chill in the air, and the fire that had been her only source of warmth turned to ashes overnight.

Regina tries to get up, but pain lances through her skull before she has a chance to sit up completely. She falls back on her elbows and scrunches her face, bringing a hand to her forehead. It feels like wild horses have taken residence there, running around, hooves endlessly hammering her brain – what in the world did she do last night?

Her memory is blurry; her whole past seems fuzzy. She can't even recall what she's doing here, in this hole in a tree she recognizes as home.

Strange.

She should remem– Snow White.

The name shakes up her memories, and when she notices the bow resting at the head of her makeshift bed, it's like information rushes in: David and James, her betrayal, Snow offering thousands of gold crowns for her capture. She needs to buy passage out of the forest; the kingdom isn't safe for her anymore. Each additional day she spends in these woods risks her head ending up on a spike by sunset. She has no intention to finish her days as a piece of decoration at the royal palace.

Whatever she'd thought she'd forgotten can wait. It isn't as important as the tax carriage coming through the woods today. _That_ is something she can't miss.

The sudden crunch of dead leaves startles her.

Her head jerks toward the entrance of her hideout, pain lancing through her skull at the sharp movement. She grits her teeth, holding back a grunt that could give away her position, and forces herself to remain still despite her building headache. She listens to the forest, to the sounds it makes. She knows them by heart after the many days she's spent hiding in these woods. The intruding footfalls are faint, but they're closing in assuredly, skillfully avoiding the traps she's set. Whoever is coming knows their way around the forest, which means they could be dangerous to her. She has no time to lose.

She needs to run.

 **::**

Robin is in the middle of the road when it happens.

His feet are leading him mindlessly back to his camp, where all but one of the most important people in his life (those alive, at least) await him. He does what he can to keep his thoughts from wandering back to the evil forces the woman he loves is about to face, but it's a waste of time because even thinking about his son and his men inevitably brings him back Regina. What a lovesick fool he is.

So he lets his mind wander, and finds himself reflecting back on the missing year.

Despite his initial shyness, his boy had rapidly grown attached to the stoic, grieving Queen. A trait he'd shared with his father. Roland had welcomed Regina with open arms and irresistible dimples, charming her almost instantly (something that couldn't be said of his father, despite his best intentions). The Merry Men had been forced to follow in the footsteps of their littlest member, but Robin hadn't been blind to their struggles to accept the Queen as a part of their lives.

Even now, he's not delusional as to where his men stand. His son is the sole reason why they've never outright detested Regina, and probably never will. She's always been good to Roland: a welcoming, protective presence in his life – the closest thing his boy has had to a mother for a full year – and for that, life at the castle had been peaceful, if unusual for a band of thieves.

But Marian's return had changed all of that, had brought back old wounds to the surface: the high-pitched cries of prisoners being publicly executed sending a chill through the forest, making even the trees shudder with horror, the ground trembling under the hooves of the black knights' horses, their faces gracing wanted posters throughout the kingdoms, and countless days of running from the Evil Queen's forces.

Robin wonders if it's wishful thinking, to dream of a peace similar to the missing year, once the author has been locked up and the magic quill disposed of; to imagine everyone he cares about, Regina included, standing together in relative harmony. The Merry Men may never have rejected her, but they had never been exactly welcoming either.

She's the odd one out amongst the ragtag group of people he considers family, he's quite conscious of that. Sometimes, it feels as though she's from another world, and to his men, perhaps she is, one they'd been stealing from for most of their lives. Robin guesses it's only a normal reaction, that they don't know what to make of her; if he's honest, most of the time, neither does he. But where the untameable nature of the Queen thrills him, it scares his men. She's like a lightning strike in the middle of a storm, waiting for the right moment to catch them unaware. He loves it; they fear it.

He tries to imagine a different life, one where Regina isn't the Queen. If she were just any forest dweller like they are, hunting and trading to survive, would his men have an easier time accepting her? Is _Regina_ the one they resent, or what she represents? Under different circumstances, would she be embraced as a friend, like Robin wishes she were now?

It's as he's thinking of the possibilities of that other life that an invisible hand hauls him down. He collapses to the pavement, and never makes it to his camp.

When he tries to get his bearings again, all Robin encounters is blackness. It fills his vision, his mind, blocking out the town he's come to call home. He yells, but the sound doesn't even reach his ears, the emptiness he's found himself in having robbed him even of his voice.

The world starts to spin, and spin and spin, the centrifugal force of the rotation threatening to rip him apart. He drives his feet into the ground, bends himself in half to try and fight it, but he shortly realizes that what's being absorbed into the void isn't body parts.

One after the other, his memories are snatched from his brain while he stands there, powerless to stop it. He holds on to his men (every one of them braver than the next, merry with life, hearts bigger than they'll ever admit), to his son (young Roland with dimples he's inherited from his father and with brown eyes and curly hair that are distinctively Marian's), to Regina (the love of his life, if only he'd have had a chance to tell her properly). He holds on to them for as long as he can, but it's still too soon before they're gone from his mind, along with everything else he's ever known.

Robin is left adrift, seemingly dreaming, never to wake up. His name his only identity.

A lone figure approaches him, casting a light just bright enough for him to make out her curves in the shadows that surround them.

She's a vision, his dream woman, all wrapped in darkness, yet shining from the inside out. He has no clue as to who she is or where she's from, but she's a marvel. A thing of beauty. A ghost from another lifetime.

And her eyes – her eyes are what draw him in, dark, peering up from underneath long lashes; eyes that could quite possibly swallow him whole if he isn't careful. His heart swells, pumps fresh blood through his body, faster and faster, a constant ebb and flow of yearning he can't explain. He's never met this woman before, yet he looks at her and sees eternity staring back at him.

A speck of red at the periphery of his vision reveals plump, scarlet lips begging for a taste, and he's but a weak man in the presence of such beauty. All he can do is indulge, celebrate the splendid picture in front of him the only way he knows how.

When their lips meet, he can almost forget this is a dream. She feels real, raw, tangible under his hands, and even though it lacks rational sense, Robin feels like he knows her. His memory is empty, but he can touch her, taste her, _feel_ her – soft skin and sweet mouth and her entire being encircling him, souls communing on a different plane.

An indistinct whisper scant inches from his ear makes him shiver, the cold breath hitting his skin feeling out of place as his body ignites under warm hands and tender touches. He's a live wire of sensations, heat blooming at the bottom of his stomach, but his arms are stuck underneath something heavy and he can't move; can't bring her closer to him like he wants to, and the voice next to him is steadier, stronger, reluctantly tugging him out of her embrace.

Consciousness slowly bleeds in, stirring him awake.

Through bleary eyes, Robin can finally take in his surroundings: wood, stone and straw, barrels of ale stacked up against the far wall, finer brews to the right. Ragged blankets are crumpled at his feet, his uncovered, half-dressed state doing nothing to hide his half-hard member tenting his trousers.

He exhales and brings a hand to his face, rubbing away the remnants of sleep and fantasy that stick to his mind. It was all just a dream.

A very good dream.

When he tries to move his second hand, a weight on his left arm prevents his limb from following his command. Considering the uncomfortable tingling in his fingers, his arm must have been crushed underneath it for the whole night.

The same honeyed voice that roused him breathes a "Good morning," right beside his ear, and this time, Robin is awake enough to recognize the dulcet timbre of a woman.

But where he expects to meet the lovely dark eyes of his imaginary lover, icy blue ones hover above him, a loving look he can't reciprocate in his half-awake shock.

Her wild, red mane curtains around their faces as she leans in to steal a peck from his lips, forefinger dragging a tenuous line down his naked torso. "Someone's eager," she teases, finger stopping when it reaches his waistband. She hooks it around the fabric of his trousers but makes no move to remove the restricting piece of clothing, preferring to tortuously run her hand along the edge of his pants. It sends a small jolt of electricity through Robin's body, an uncontrollable reaction after the dream he's just had. The blue-eyed woman lets out a small laugh, drops her gaze down and asks, "Is that all for me?" eyes flicking back up to meet his, a wicked smile stretching her face.

Before Robin can speak, she casts a nervous look toward the corner of the basement, where the flickering sunrays of dawn are visible through the murky glass of a small window, and pushes herself off his chest.

"I ought to get back home," she states as she straightens her dress. "Father will wonder where I am." Robin can only acquiesce.

When she's put on her shoes and fixed her hair, she glances back at him, dragging her teeth on her bottom lip.

He must be quite the sight, mouth agape and gaze lost, unresponsive to her obvious attempts at flirting. He should be fully awake by now, but his brain is still hazy. He knows this woman is important to him, but he can't place her, especially after his imagination had conjured a magnificent raven-haired beauty who'd lit up every single one of his senses.

Zelena – her name comes back to him like an arrow hitting the bullseye (how could he have forgotten?) – scoots back toward him, eyeing the now softening bulge in his pants. "Soon, my love," she says with a caress to his cheek, and then she's up again in no time.

Her massive red locks flit back when the morning breeze rushes in through the door. (Robin finally recognizes the back door to the pub the Merry Men use as shelter – what's wrong with his memory this morning? John and Will are surely upstairs already. Robin had told his men to map the route of the tax carriage coming through the forest today; hadn't told them why. He needed to ask a fellow thief a favour. Contacts had told him that's where she'd be.) Zelena turns to him and blows a kiss before heading out, promising to stop by later when all is set and ready at the church.

Right. The church.

He's getting married today.


	5. Chapter 5

When Robin comes to, there's a rugged surface squashed against his cheek. His body is limp, arms and legs pinned down to the ground, heavy, head pulsating with a burgeoning headache.

He can't seem to recall much about what brought him here. There'd been this feeling of loss – deep, sorrowful, heart-wrenching loss. Like a part of himself was being ripped away. Then a blinding white light. It had engulfed him and carried him to this place so bright and luminous he'd had to shield his eyes with the back of his hand. Shadows had been moving about, wandering souls, trapped alongside him in this weird limbo, but Robin had remained mute, unable to call out to them.

As quickly as it came, the light had disappeared, replaced by inextricable darkness, waves upon waves of obscurity soothing his screaming pupils but leashing and dragging his consciousness back to another place.

Another time.

And here he is now, collapsed against a flat, stone-like surface, unable to move a muscle, awake but caged in his own mind.

His only indication of being alive is a small tingle creeping up his arms. It starts at his fingers, a gentle plucking he tries to chase by wiggling the tips, but it only expands, installing itself permanently in his hand. It travels up his forearm, elbow jerking at the sharp sensation, continues to his shoulder blade, and then runs down the rest of his body, invading his every nerve. Eyelids unstick gradually, bright rays of sunlight on the other side blurring his vision and making him wince. When the blur has gone, blue smattered with white replaces the pitch-black haze he'd been lost in. His chest rises and falls lazily, fresh air entering his lungs, dry and smelling faintly of a substance Robin can't recognize. One thing's for sure: he's not in the forest anymore.

There'd been a dead weight in his hands. That, he remembers, can still feel it: a rounded, solid thing, warm but cooling rapidly – too rapidly – silky-soft to the touch, long tresses interweaved with his fingers. It'd gotten heavier with each ticking second, no matter how he wished it didn't. He'd supported it as it fell back to the ground, handled it with care for the precious thing that it was. If only he could remember _what_ it was.

Robin sighs, looks at the sky again, afternoon bright, thin, unthreatening clouds floating in its azure vastness. Electric wires run along the edge of his vision. Rooftops and brick walls drop down to the corner of his eye, the sight familiar. His heart stutters.

Storybrooke.

Regina.

He scrambles to his feet, ignoring the way his head spins at the sudden movement. A quick look around informs him he'd woken up at the last place he remembers being before blacking out, which means everyone is probably back where they were, including his son. Roland will be safe at camp for the short minutes it'll take Robin to run back towards Gold's shop. He ought to check on his boy himself, but his men would run to him first thing if anything were the matter. Right now, there's only one person Robin can focus on, with raven hair and dark eyes – the right ones, eyes he was born to gaze into – and he has to make sure she's here, all right. _Alive_. Robin dares not ponder the possibility of her being anything but too loud, for fear of finding it to be true.

Dread loads his steps and slows his footfalls as he turns the corner on Main Street, but he needn't have been scared at all. The sight that greets him is not the grim one he'd anticipated.

Regina is standing, hugging her son, her back to him, uninjured and well and very much alive. He remembers fully now: it'd been her head weighing heavily in his hand, her lifeless body cradled against his, greeting death with a smile, finally at peace – or maybe it was him she'd been smiling at; his memory is still a bit foggy. They'd lived a whole other life, with its share of love and loss – a life that wasn't theirs. Theirs is right here, right now, and Robin takes a second to slow down next to Emma, but when he sees the blonde moving, awake, too, he has no remorse leaving her side and darting towards his love full speed, crushing Regina in a powerful embrace, uncaring if he knocks the wind out of her in the process.

She stumbles back, clings to him in order to not take a tumble, but Robin has no intention of letting her fall.

Not now. Not ever.

He clutches her tighter against his front, bumps his head gently against her temple, and gasps into her ear, "Thank the gods you're alive," air he'd been unknowingly holding since his memory came whooshing out of his lungs. Regina is safe – safe and sound – and in his arms again and no amount of gratitude can fully express how Robin feels at being able to hold her again; to feel her beating heart against his chest, faint through the layers of clothing but present nonetheless; to bury his nose in her hair and let the distinct aroma of her vanilla-scented shampoo fill his nostrils, a scent that reminds him of home.

Or maybe it's her.

 _She_ is an integral part of his home now, a person without whom life loses its sense, and he's never letting her out of his sight again.

Regina pulls back slightly, just enough to peek at him, half-lidded eyes tired but no less beautiful. Her chest brushes his when she inhales, the look they share lasting no more than a second, lips pulled together on an exhale, magnets no external force could break apart.

With Henry merely a few paces behind, the kiss remains relatively chaste. No snogging like they once did in the hallways of Granny's Bed & Breakfast. But it's no less passionate, Robin winding his hand into her hair, raven locks flowing easily around his fingers as he grins into the kiss, captures her bottom lip between his and does not let go. He can hear the soft chuckle building up in her throat, and only then does he release her lip, kisses her one last time because he _can_ , because his heart is beating faster and faster and faster every single second it spends in her presence. He kisses her for every moment he's missed, for the weeks he's been gone, and for the lifetime where he's failed to do that in the reality that almost became her tomb.

He'd been right, when he was lying down on the cold asphalt. He'd held something priceless in the palm of his hand before the world changed, and she's here again, his, flesh and bones, and he's been given a second chance at being the man Regina deserves. A chance Robin doesn't intend to miss.

He lets go of her mouth reluctantly, guiding her head to his shoulder and burying his own nose in the crook of her neck, breathing her in one more time. She's warm and solid against his body – _alive_ , he repeats to himself – and the terrible fright he'd had waking up alone in the streets of Storybrooke is all but gone. Minutes ago, eons ago, before the crazy ride the author sent them on, she'd been the one desperately holding on to him while he whispered reassuring words into her ear; now, he's the one clinging on to her as though she might vanish any minute, Regina rubbing a soothing hand against his side.

He feels her head tilt against his jaw, her chin now resting on his shoulder, mouth close to his ear. "It takes more than a sword to kill me," she half-jokes, and Robin puffs out a broken laugh, gathering her even closer.

Of course, it would take more than a pointy scrap of metal to end _his_ Regina, but her alter-ego didn't have her magical abilities, and he'd lost her. Life had left her body as he'd held her in his arms, and he'd had no idea who she was, who she could have been to him. He feels a fresh stab of pain in his chest at the thought, as if the worse has just happened again, but the images invading his mind don't have Regina's bandit-self lying motionless on the the ground; they have _her_ , his, and Robin would rather die himself than let the same fate take his love.

 **::**

For all her bravado, Regina must admit she'd been scared, too.

She can still feel the cold steel of Rumplestiltskin's blade slicing through her stomach, the warmth of the blood pooling under her, her heartbeat slowing to a precarious pace.

Oddly enough, she'd been happy. In those last few moments, her life had been complete. She didn't know the people around her, but with Henry, Robin, and Emma, she'd felt whole, at home, in a way she never had before. She remembers thinking that if those were to be her final moments, she was glad the end included those three surrounding her. She wouldn't give into the hope that Henry's stories were true (hope only brought pain – that was all her alternate-self knew, and Regina gripes at how a different life had only brought similarities for her), but at least she'd known for a few short minutes what it felt like to have people care about her. To be important. She'd received more love in a day than she'd had in her entire life, and most importantly, she hadn't died alone.

Her hand finds purchase in Robin's short hair and gives it a light pull, just enough to make him scoot back so she can gaze at him. He's giving her that look again, the one that makes her speechless, that has her heart speeding up, her mind reeling because there are moments (and this is one of them) where she still can't reconcile what he's seeing in her. She's too long believed herself unworthy of such adoration, but here it is, in his eyes, and when Robin steps back and motions for Henry to join them, grabbing her son by the shoulders in a manly hug, Regina feels tears welling up in her eyes.

But that'd be all right, she thinks. It'd be more than all right.

"Mom, you okay?"

Henry's voice pulls her out of her thoughts (she hadn't realized she'd been gone so long). She meets his gaze and sees the concern etched on his face, creating early wrinkles Regina wants gone immediately. They don't belong near her son's young, hopeful eyes.

She sniffles back the need to cry and offers her son a tight-lipped smile. "I'm perfectly fine," she assures. "Thanks to you."

She reaches out to cup his jaw, thumb brushing across the apple of his cheek. His skin is soft under the pad of her finger, worry lines gone in an instant as he returns her smile. Robin's hand has found the small of her back, warm and inviting, and she leans into it, arm falling back to her side. She can't believe how blissful she feels, here, surrounded by the people she loves the most, with no impending doom on the horizon.

Robin bumps his chest into her elbow playfully, making her look up. His face and tone are serious when he says, "I never want to experience that again."

"I'm alive, Robin," she tells him and grasps his hand. "It's over."

"It was too close."

Regina shakes her head. "You don't need to worry about me," she responds, eyes drifting back to Henry as she adds, "I have my own Prince Charming," and she beams at her son, still high on this new happiness she feels.

She'd sacrifice her life again in a heartbeat if it meant he'd be safe.

Always.

She can't resist the urge to hug him again, and she does, Robin giving her a gentle push forward as she goes. Affection blooms in her chest for this man she's fallen for, as it does every time he surprises her with actions of seemingly little importance but that mean the world to her. She's grateful to him, for knowing how much she needs Henry, for understanding what it's like to be a parent first, and for not being greedy of the love she so openly shares for her son.

Regina hold on to Henry for half a minute, keeps her son tightly lock in her arms until he grumbles, "All right, Mom," wriggling stiff shoulders out of her embrace. She holds back a grimace, releasing him reluctantly and trying to ignore the dull ache setting in her chest at how old her son is becoming. She's not ready for adolescence just yet. She wants to hug him when she wants, for as long as she wants, but she fears he'll soon not want nor need her around; at the very least, much less frequently.

She takes a step back and finds herself pressing into Robin's waiting hand, his fingers squeezing at her hip in a silent show of support, from one parent to another. She looks up at him, hit by another wave of thankfulness for this man, for how easily he fits into her life, their lives, like he was always meant to be there. (He was; they're soulmates.) Whatever synchronicity she'd thought they'd lost seems to be back, stronger than ever, and as they exchange a knowing smile, Robin leans in to capture her mouth, leaving one, two, three small pecks to her lips. (She spies Henry turning his head in the other direction, a reaction that alleviates Regina's previous concerns about his upcoming adolescence. Maybe she still has a few years before her son turns full-teenager on her.) Her hand sneaks up to Robin's neck, holding his mouth against hers to deepen that third kiss.

She should never have doubted _them_.

A throat clears behind them, and three heads turn to see the Apprentice, having completely neglected the old man until now. He pays the adults no mind, though, his attention fixed on Henry, whom he's studying meticulously. Regina knows that gaze, hates it; she'd surveyed many a pawn this way as the Queen, filing away information for later use. However noble the Apprentice's intentions are, it has her senses flaring up, her body tensing. She won't let that old man one hair on her son's head.

The Apprentice's scrutiny doesn't last long enough for Regina to act on her apprehension. Instead, his gruff voice breaks the silence. "Where is Isaac?" he inquires, eyes shifting from Henry to Regina to Robin and back again when no answer comes from either of them. "Please, he can't be allowed to escape."

Regina's eyebrow arches as she considers the request. She has no wish to spend her evening chasing after the man responsible for their last adventure. He'd lost all power to change their future when the mantle of the author had been passed on to Henry, and represents no threat that needs to be taken care of right away. "A cowardly ex-author on the loose sounds like a job for the Sheriff's Department," Regina responds.

Isaac will turn up eventually and, when he does, he'll answer for his actions. But for the immediate future, he's no danger to anyone. Except maybe himself. Regina has her son and Robin back in her life – has _her own_ life back – and she intends to celebrate her victory.

The Apprentice takes a step towards them. "You can't be serious."

"I am," she says, resolute, and when no rebuttal comes from the Apprentice, she smirks satisfactorily. But then Henry throws her that _Mom, be kind_ look, and she relents a little. "Talk to Emma. Or David. They won't be able to stop themselves from helping you with your escaped author. As for me, I'm going to get my son's book, check on my wicked sister," she feels Robin tense behind her and forces her own body to relax, to show him it doesn't matter, that she doesn't blame him, "but after that? I'm done for the day." She doesn't wait for a reply, instead peers back at Robin. "I'll see you at Granny's tonight?" she asks, keeping her tone light, and the momentary tension that had clouded his features washes away in an instant.

"Of course," he replies at once.

"8 c'clock. Don't be late." she warns, and Robin grins – a cheeky, mischievous thing.

He steps backs, disentangles their arms, and bows slightly. "I wouldn't dream of it," are the words that accompany his gesture, and when his eyes meet hers again, there's a lopsided smile just below, and _oh, that man_. She'd almost forgotten how easily he could make her laugh.

And laugh Regina does, louder than she intends, and if she feels self-conscious about it for half a second, Robin's matching chuckle blows her fretting away before it even has time to settle. Memories of the forest and their first meeting – both of them – come back to her full speed, and she's struck again by how relieved she is to have it all back, to not be stuck in a life that isn't her own.

As much as being a born-hero had appealed to her when it was just wishes and empty talks, she wouldn't exchange her life for that of her alter-ego. She'll learn to deal with her past (to cherish it) slowly, the good and the bad, because that's what's made her who she is. And she's damn proud of herself today.

With one last press of her lips to Robin's for no other reason than because she can, Regina turns to her son and asks, "Are you coming?"

Henry hums pensively, eyes flicking to Robin and back. He's shifting his weight awkwardly between his feet when he says, "You go ahead. Robin's gonna take me home," and Regina's eyes grow wide. This is news to her.

Her eyes dart to the man whose side she just left, but he's looking at Henry with an incredulous look that says _I am?_ so this announcement has come as a shock to him, too. Henry stares at Robin intently, their silent exchange (her son's doing, Regina knows) anything but subtle.

Still, she waits, and finally, when Robin straightens his spine and declares, "I'll see your lad home," Regina can't say she's surprised. His offer isn't a comment, not in the least, and, were she to say no, Robin wouldn't push the issue further, but she has to admit she's curious.

Regina eyes them for a minute, her two men, plotting together behind her back. She wonders briefly if this has to do with her, and greedily wants them to get along. She doesn't want to have to split her time between Henry and Robin, knows Robin wouldn't want her to either. He'd never part her from her son, and neither would she with Roland. So she shrugs and nods her consent, throwing the older of the two one last look, a fraction of a second too long to be casual, making sure he gets her message: she expects a full report later on whatever it is Henry wants to talk to him about.

Robin gives her a half-smile as she finally turns away, content, leaving her boys to their own devices.

 **::**

They walk in silence at first.

It's mostly comfortable. A little awkward, perhaps, but Henry's the one who requested his presence, so Robin gives him time to gather his thoughts. Their silence stretches out, however, and rapidly becomes strained, a heavy load of things unsaid hanging above their heads.

He probably owes an apology to the lad. He's done much wrong to his mother while wanting to do the right thing for his family, and it's only understandable that her boy be a little hesitant to trust him again. Despite his friendly nature and agreeable character in front of Regina, Robin doubts Henry is fully complaisant with his rather poor handling of recent events.

"I'm sorry, Henry," the outlaw says after a couple of minutes, when he can stand the silence no longer. He figures it's as good a start as any.

Henry's eyes narrow, and he sports a scowl so reminiscent of Regina's no one would question which woman raised him from infancy. "I'm not the one you need to apologize to," he replies bitterly.

Robin has no comeback to that, can't fault the boy for his bluntness. Henry has every right to be mad at him. He's already apologized to Regina, though no amount of _I'm sorry_ s will ever be enough to make up for his mistakes.

While Henry mulls his words, Robin's gaze finds its way back to the road, counting the cracks in the asphalt as they walk, a pastime that does very little to diminish the unwanted memories of life in New York from his mind. Now that the haze created by the alternate reality has completely lifted, the deception and blunders of the past months are clear as day, and knowing them over and gone doesn't relieve Robin of shame.

"She was happy, you know?" Henry says as they turn the last corner to their destination, the white manor peeking from behind the trees higher up on the road. "You made her happy."

Guilt eats at Robin at the boy's words, crawls up his spine like a snake and settles there. "I know," he answers, eyes fixing pensively on the horizon.

It's a quaint little neighbourhood, the one Regina lives in. The street they're on goes on for another mile or so, bordered by trees tall enough to create a barrier between this place and Main Street, keeping her close to the town centre but secluded at the same time. Robin can see why she likes it. It really is lovely.

They've almost reached the fence to the mansion when Henry stops. "Does she make you happy?" he questions – a no brainer, as far as Robin is concerned.

"Immensely," he answers in a breath.

"Happier than you've ever been?" he adds, naively, as a boy, who's yet to experience the complications of love and life, ought to do.

Robin sighs, tries to think of a way to answer that won't ensue in the boy's anger – he'd like for Regina's son to approve of their relationship, doesn't want to create a rift between the two of them – but there's only one way to answer it: with the truth.

"As happy as Marian once made me," he says genuinely, heart beating just a little faster at the thought of his deceased wife, an old wound reopened and bleeding out rancor, stifling the air from his lungs. (It's a fragile state he's in, still, easily overthrown, and the reason why his beloved Marian is better kept at rest for the time being. Thoughts of her only end in pain and trickery.) Henry scrunches his nose, however, clearly displeased with Robin's answer. So the latter fumbles to add, "But our time has reached its end, and now your mother makes me happier than words can say. She completes me. And I can't imagine myself living without her."

Henry crosses his arms, giving Robin's reply some thought, keeping his face serious. But it's imperfect in his young age, and the outlaw can see through the cracks that Henry's struggling to fully comprehend the complexity of human emotions. Still, Regina's son squares his shoulders and states, "Mom said I was too young to understand, but that's not true. I know you broke her heart." His tone isn't accusatory, but very matter-of-fact, and Robin has no choice but to recognize the truth in them. His chin drops, gaze cast at his feet as regret flares inside his chest. "But she forgave you," Henry points out lastly, voice rising near the end in half a question.

There's something in his voice indicating that, while Regina may have, her son might have not.

"She did," Robin acknowledges, but fails to give a longer reply. Not because he doesn't want too, but because the answer as to how or why his mother so easily forgave him after all that's happened eludes him, too.

Except that's not entirely true. Robin does know, to some extent. He knows because he feels the same. He's desperate for Regina in a way he hasn't been for anyone in a very long time, and being forced apart again would probably kill him. Not physically, but emotionally. He'd be (and had been) an empty shell without her, so he takes and cherishes every moment he _can_ have, despite the nagging shame he feels when he looks at her.

Love is complicated – that's an understatement, and sadly not one that will satisfy Henry's curiosity.

The lad is still looking at him, expecting an answer Robin isn't sure he possesses, but he tries his best. "Sometimes, Henry, we hurt the ones we love." The teenager raises an eyebrow at that, unimpressed, and the thief has to admit that did sound pretty lame. He'd laugh at his own attempt if the situation were different. Wondering if there's even an easy way _to_ explain this, he starts again, "The day will come when you'll care for someone as deeply as I care for your mother," there, that's better, "and you'll understand, then, how we can both love and hurt at the same time." He bends slightly then, to be on eye level with the boy, and says the next few words while looking straight at him. "But, for now, you have my word, Henry, that I will do everything in my power to make your mother the happiest woman in this town."

The boy contemplates his words for a minute, frown still firmly in place as he observes Robin closely. The latter gives him as much time as he needs, holds Henry's gaze respectfully until he nods in agreement, and decides, "Okay," losing his defensive stance.

It seems sincerity really does work with Regina's son; Robin will have to remember that if the need for such a conversation ever arises again (dear gods, he hopes not).

He feels like he's passed some sort of test he hadn't realized he'd been taking. Though, there's a clear warning in Henry's eyes, an indication that Robin will be held to his word and should he fail a second time, he'll have more than Regina's wrath to worry about. A condition Robin is most happy to adhere to; he doesn't have any intention of letting Regina down again.

The outlaw is about to make his retreat when a thought occurs to him. It seems only fitting to ask for the lad's permission. So he wears a solemn expression and looks straight at the young man. "May I take her out for the night? After dinner."

Henry cocks his head. "On a date?" he questions, and Robin frowns at the words, so he clarifies, "That's what we say when people in a relationship go out for an evening."

Robin _ohh_ s, and inquires, "Like courting?"

"Yep."

"Then yes," he tells Henry, "I would very much like to take your mother out on a… date. If I may?" The new word feels strange when it rolls off his tongue, but it makes the corners of Henry's mouth turn up as he nods his approval. (They both want the same thing after all, for Regina to be happy. Surely they can find common ground despite this mess.)

"Sure," the lad agrees, and his slight grin relaxes Robin. "But she needs to come home by midnight."

Robin suppresses a chuckle, but fails to hide his smile. "Will do," he assures, and with that, he bids Henry goodbye, waits until Regina's boy is safely inside his home, and heads back towards his camp.

 **::**

Regina stops by the hospital on the way home.

She'd rather not, would rather pretend this little family affair didn't exist. But, as Zelena had so kindly pointed out, ignoring her existence is what Mother had done, and Regina refuses to be anything like Cora. Not even her own wicked sister will get treated the way their mother treated people, no matter what she does to try and poison Regina's existence. Snow had given the Evil Queen a second chance, and so it only seems fair that Regina, in turn, give her sister one. If the latter ever wishes for it.

The nurse looks up upon her arrival, her usual unwelcoming glare plastered on her face. The condescension in those piercing eyes puts Regina on edge, unsettles her and makes her feel small, so very small, even though she's standing and the nurse is sitting. The woman is looking at her as if she's unworthy of respect, as if the Evil Queen has somehow become _less_ now that she's joined forces with the heroes. Like she's gone soft.

Not thatsoft, Regina thinks, and she'll prove it.

She stalks towards Zelena's cell, throwing the door open with a wave of her hand and kicking aside her nervousness. Her sister has the ability to dig up deeply buried memories, often associated with Cora – memories Regina has tried so very hard not to let dictate her life, and today is not the day she'll let her sister or anyone or _anything_ get the upper hand.

Until Zelena finally realizes what Regina herself has taken years to accept, that change comes from within, that you have to wish it, each visit will undoubtedly only fuel her ire. It's inevitable. And as much as Regina hates her sister with every fiber of her being, she can't help but see part of herself in the scheming redhead and, as Snow had once done for her, she's going to make sure Zelena's all right, even though she'd prefer locking her up and throwing away the key.

Regina has one foot over the threshold when her sister simpers, "Sis! Back already?" The source of the voice is leaning nonchalantly against the wall, in the corner opposite to the bed, looking far too pleased with herself for someone who's about to spend the next however long in the basement of Storybrooke General. Her arms are draped around her middle, a malicious sneer hooked on her face. "Didn't enjoy the wedding?" Zelena cackles.

Regina's hands ball into fists.

It seem some habits are harder to break than others.

Maybe she's done enough for today, she thinks. Her sister's alive, seems well enough to take a jab at her, and doesn't look like she's interested in becoming friends any more than she did before their little stunt into the alternate reality. She could– should ask about the baby, but she's not opening up that can of worms with Zelena in the same room. Not today. Today, she'll ask Whale to check up on her when she gets upstairs. That will be plenty of good will.

Naturally, her sister has other plans.

Zelena sweeps towards the middle of the room, Regina's watchful eyes immediately following her every movement. "You know, I must admit at first I didn't understand what you saw in him." The redhead tilts her head overdramatically, seemingly recalling events of the last year. "A thief who lives in a tent and makes a life out of hunting with a bow is far below our standing." She uncrosses her arms, hands sliding across her stomach and travelling down to mid-thigh as she moans through an exhale of air. "But then I experienced him for myself, and by the gods, Regina, you've been holding out on me!" Zelena exclaims. "Had I known, I would have concocted this little scenario when we first met."

The fireball surprises them both.

It swooshes past Zelena and crashes against the wall, exploding in embers inches away from her sister's head and scorching the ends of a few red locks.

"My hair!" Zelena is appalled, draws the burned strands between her hands to prevent the remaining flames from spreading to the rest of her curls, earning herself superficial burns on the skin of her palms that have her cursing under her breath. A corner of Regina's mouth turns up deviously.

A little evil never hurt anyone.

"That," Regina pauses for effect, waits until she has Zelena's full attention again, "was a warning shot." She clasps her hands together in front of her stomach and schools her features into a more composed expression, straightening her back and lifting her chin, studying her sister carefully.

And then she waits.

For the next few minutes, their breathing is the only noise resounding in the room, a fake and contrived respite from their quarrel, tension filling the air, almost tangible.

"What do you _want_ , Regina?" Zelena is the first to break the silence, spitting out her question and scrunching her nose with disdain, acting as if the situation's changed. As if, suddenly, she's the victim in this little scenario of hers.

How twisted her reality must be, Regina thinks.

Robin, her Robin, the one who always had had such strength, who'd lost his wife, not once but twice, and raised a child on his own, who was respected by his men as a leader and father, who had had her back during the missing year even though she'd been cruel to him – that brave and caring man had flinched earlier at the mere _mention_ of her sister's name. What kind of lies does Zelena feed to herself to believe she's not to blame? To fault Regina for her ire when she has every right to be angry?

Even if Robin hadn't said anything about it, probably hadn't even realized his body was giving his thoughts away, she had. Zelena toyed with the man she cares for, and Regina's not sure it's something she ever _wants_ to forgive.

Zelena could be offered a second chance, in theory. If Regina has earned one and found her happy ending after everything she's done, surely the hero book won't prescribe her sister from getting one, the day she eventually stops seeing herself as a casualty of Regina's life.

But she won't. Not anytime in the near future. Vengeance still tastes sweet for her; it hasn't turned bitter yet.

"I just wanted to make sure you were all right after our trip inside the book," Regina simply answers, breathing through her nose before the thin thread holding her together snaps again. "I realize now that was a mistake."

She goes for the exit as Zelena rolls her eyes and scoffs loudly, anything to attract attention Regina won't give her. The latter is almost to the door, almost free of her sister's cunning little games when a shrilling _Oh!_ causes her to halt in her steps, followed with a taunting, "We're _both_ fine," where Zelena draws out every last syllable of her sentence with wicked pleasure.

Regina turns around, is met with the sight of her sister placing a protective hand over her belly, fingers tapping on her stomach lightly and, if Regina didn't know better, almost thoughtfully.

But she does. She does know better, knows this is all a part of Zelena's act, recognizes the malevolence behind her pretend pensive blue eyes, and yet... Yet one of her hands flies up and covers the forever flat expanse of her own stomach, mind already spiralling down a road she'd hoped never to travel again.

" _Stupid girl," Mother says like a pet name. She always does, always has, for as long as Regina can remember. "You think it'll make you strong to hurt yourself?" Her voice is full of concern, as if she truly cared about her daughter's happiness, but she never means any of it. Cora is only grasping at straws, trying to prevent her from taking control, but it's too late. Regina already has. Every ounce of agency she's ever wished for is within her grasp, contained in the glass she holds in her hand._

 _And with that thought, her decision is made. "Oh, it does if it hurts you more."_

 _Regina gulps down the potion and stares at Cora, proud, satisfied, watches with joy as horror clouds her mother's face, and she thinks she's won. For once in her life, she's had the upper hand over Cora._

 _That's when the pain begins._

 _Her whole body heats up, searing flames devastating her insides, leaving nothing but a charred remains in their wake._

 _She's not even strong enough to stand on her own._

How can a choice that had given her free rein over her own life seem so unfair years and years later? She imagines a child, so innocent and so pure, with Robin's blue eyes and Zelena's red curls, product of nothing more than deceit, and rage builds up in her, familiar, a feeling she thought she'd parted with. It makes her feel like she's no better than her sister, still prone to the same violent tendencies she'd fought so hard to get rid of, and all it'd taken was a new pawn. A new person manipulated to destroy her future. Snow had been used to cause Daniel's death; Robin had moved on with whom he thought was his wife. Leaving her alone.

She tries telling herself it's different this time, she has Robin back, it was all a trick, but the truth is her mind reels whenever she stops long enough to think about it.

He'd sought refuge and comfort with someone else so little time after leaving her behind. They'd _agreed_ , but the knowledge is a fresh stab of pain in her chest. If she can be tossed aside so easily after their separation, who's to know how much he really cares for her? (She can do the math. For her sister to be pregnant now, they'd had to start sleeping together a few meek weeks after they crossed the town line. _A few weeks_. That's all it took for him to move on.)

The thought makes Regina want to retch.

No matter what fraudulent tactics were at play, it's the only fact she can be sure of: he'd moved on. Perhaps not completely, but enough to make her doubt if she means to him what he means to her.

He'd given up on them, when he'd been the one insisting she have hope, telling her things would work out.

He'd given up, when she hadn't spent one day without thinking about him.

And now her sister is carrying the living proof of that in her belly, when all Regina will ever have for herself are words.

Empty words. Easily changeable, exploitive words.

Maybe Mother was right. No one is ever going to love her. She's despicable, damaged, nothing anyone with a head on their shoulders would ever wish for, much less desire.

She'll never be enough.

Without another glance at Zelena, Regina spins towards the exit, fighting back the tears threatening to spill.

The bitch is not worth it.

She's about to slam the door behind her with magic when Zelena's beguiling voice reaches her ears again. "You know, you're gonna have to tell him eventually."

Regina stills, muscles tensing. She wills the wetness in her eyes away, summoning every fiery nerve in her body. Now's not the time to give Zelena the satisfaction of winning. She waits until she's as calm and collected as she can be, and then she turns around slowly, and meets her sister's gaze dead on. "Tell him what?" Regina asks, harshly, but her tone has no effect on Zelena who's too busy preening herself on some unknown accomplishment.

The redhead struts towards the door, only stopping when the forcefield crackles at her proximity. Her mouth curves into a tight-lipped smile as the sisters stare at each other from either side of the threshold, engaged in a battle of wills neither of them intends to lose.

Zelena sniggers after a few minutes, throwing her head back in exaggerated fashion. "That his only chance of having children is with me," is her answer, and Regina's mouth twitches nervously. "Oh. Don't worry," her sister adds, falsely concerned, eyes flicking down to Regina's belly, and finishes with a wink, "Your secret is safe with me." And then she laughs again because she can, because this situation is so terribly amusing to her, beyond funny, and it takes every ounce of Regina's self-control not to kill her on the spot.

Even when she finally leaves, that high-pitched laughter follows her down the hall, up the stairs, echoes in her ears as she makes her way home.

(It's all in her head. She knows it's all in her head.)

She doesn't move once she's parked in front of her house. She remains seated, knuckle-white fists gripping the wheel, stiff shoulders pushed back against the seat. Her eyes are fixed on the dashboard, not seeing. She's elsewhere, lost, caught in that part of her mind where her demons hide. Where it's easier to hate than to forgive. Where she's both angry at and for Robin. Where she wishes things were different but wouldn't change one iota of her life.

In a moment, she'll walk into her house and act as if nothing's happened. She'll say hello to her son, fix his unruly hair, and kiss his cheek. The sight of him will be enough to bring her some peace of mind (it always is; Henry makes everything better) and when he asks how it went, she'll tell him everything's fine, and she'll believe it; she can't afford not to. And then she'll go upstairs and get ready for tonight, and nothing will prevent her from enjoying her evening.

Nothing.

* * *

 _Words cannot express how thankful I am to Nina, Laura, and Jess. Mwah._


	6. Chapter 6

Roland collects twigs and sticks into his arms, snatching a handful of earth each time he plucks one from the ground, dirt assembling itself around him in a cloud. He smiles up at Will as he spots another branch dry enough to fuel their fire and runs to add it to his collection, dropping three of his sticks in his haste. Will follows in the boy's footsteps, picking up the trail of firewood with a resigned expression, but when Roland spins around, the small branch he's just found brandished high above his head in victory, Will doesn't have it in him to admonish the little guy.

And then Roland's tiny arm drops, stick pointing to another similar one lying a few feet away in the moss, and he runs to it, hugging his precious collection to his chest, oblivious to the two that slip out when he steps too quickly and almost tumbles (but catches himself just in time).

Will sighs, but still goes after the boy, face now more amused than anything else as he grabs the discarded branches off the ground.

Robin watches their antics from a log by the fire, poking at the charred wood with a stick of his own, smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

His boy is happy.

It's the one consolation to be found within the different nightmarish thoughts clouding his mind.

Regina's potion seems to have worked, given his son a free pass through this whole mess, and as guilty as Robin had felt – feels – at taking away his boy's memories, he knows it was the right thing to do.

(He wishes it was the right thing to do.)

If only it would work on him.

Only when Will plops down next to him on the log, seemingly extenuated for Roland's benefit (his son is squealing with laughter, celebrating his victory), does Robin realize he's lost track of what's been happening around him.

Will veers his scrutinizing gaze away from him and back to Roland, making sure the child is too busy playing in the dirt to listen to their conversation before saying, "The boy's havin' the tim'of his life making fun of me. Now tell me, why's the father such a moody sod?"

Robin throws him a glare. "Language, Will."

"Your lad ain't hearing a word of this. Don't try and change the subject," the man scoffs.

And he's right. Roland's at the edge of their little clearing, still in sight (his boy knows to not venture in the forest alone) but far enough away that the wind won't carry their voices to his ears. Even if it does, the littlest Merry Men is too entranced in his task to pay them any mind, prodding the insect of the day with a leaf he's stolen from the ground far more interesting in his five-year-old eyes than anything his father and _Uncle Will_ are talking about.

"You're going to see Regina again," the younger man adds when Robin remains silent. A statement that is not meant to be accusatory, yet that gets the leader of the Merry Men to start a defense.

"Will–" But the man in question waves him off with a hand.

"Hey, I told'ya – no judgement from me, mate." Robin loses some of the tension that had gathered in his shoulders. "But this lot," Will points to the rest of his men, scattered throughout camp, chatting and drinking away their evening (Robin had set up his tent nearer to the edge tonight, wanting to avoid the judgemental stares), "might have a harder time swallowing it. Especially after having Marian back."

The mention of his wife prompts Robin to finally look at his friend, his voice cold when he replies, "She's been dead for years," but even to his ears, his tone sounds desperate.

It's what he's been telling himself to ease the pain, that Marian's been long gone, that the last few months don't change anything, he's already mourned her passing. It's easier than reliving the lies.

"Ain't matter," Will says, dragging Robin back to their conversation. "She was alive for them."

 _For them._

Well, that makes Robin sound entirely uncaring of Marian's fate, and he can't have that. For years, he's loved her more than words could say. She was his whole world before Roland came along. He'd tried to be a honourable man for her. To reduce his feelings over her death like Will just did sits sorely in Robin's heart.

"She was alive for me too," he states, bitterly.

Will corrects right away, "Ne'er said she wasn't, but you didn't need her when she came back." Robin stares off into space, watching Roland gather rocks and create some kind of fort for whatever insect he's found himself fascinated with. "Your heart'd already moved on. Marian wouldn't want you to feel guilty 'bout that."

Guilt. That's what it is, isn't it? The emotion weighing on his mind, shackling him to the past.

"And quite the lady it moved on _to_ ," Will adds in-between chuckles, but his words only half-register in Robin's mind.

What would Marian want? There goes the one thought he's stuck on.

There'd been a time he could have said exactly what was going through his wife's beautiful mind, or what would have gone through her mind had she been alive.

Today, everything he knows of Marian is false, corrupted, just like his memories.

She was always so kind to nature, nursing wounded animals back to health and denying his men an easy kill. _It is not fair to attack those who can't defend themselves_ , she would say, and they would listen. They would always listen. She never took no for an answer, his Marian.

Robin looks at Roland now, taking care of some unknown small creature, and he sees _her_ , dark irises and hair, marvelling at every new discovery, perceiving the world not only with her eyes, but with her ears and hands and heart, following her senses wherever they lead her. His son and wife are so much alike, two halves of a whole, born out of the same stars.

Marian would be so proud of him, their baby boy, growing up into a thoughtful gentleman.

Robin sighs as steals a look at the canopy of heaven above their heads, little dots of shining light peeking through the pink hues of the sky at sunset. The stars are faint here in Storybrooke, city lights stealing away most the beauty of the sky. He wishes for another land, one where the forest runs for miles, where the land is green and overflowing with life instead of an abundance of manmade commodities.

One where the stars are bright and fill up the sky down to the horizon line.

There are days where Robin misses it, the simplicity of life in the Enchanted Forest. It's where he was born, met Marian, and had his son. It's where he long thought home was.

Until recently.

Until home became a person – people.

Regina doesn't want to go back. The forest reminds her of her past, of dark times in her life she'd rather forget.

Robin had seen for himself the regalia of her apparel reach new heights during the missing year, the way she'd dismiss Snow White every time the Princess attempted to talk to have a heartfelt conversation with her, or how Regina would avoid certain parts of the castle at specific times of the day, shying away from her own shadow if she so much as glimpsed the treacherous places.

Storybrooke had offered her a chance to start over, given her Henry, and a place of honour amongst the family of those she once swore to destroy.

She's earned every victory, and Robin wouldn't even wish to take that from her.

It's why home isn't the Enchanted Forest anymore. His son enjoys Storybrooke, his men will learn to, and so long as his family stays out of danger, he'll follow Regina wherever she goes.

He's not losing her again.

Will gets up, "Enjoy your evening, mate," and pats Robin between the shoulder blades. "I'll keep an eye on Roland." He ends on a suggestive wink, scampering off before Robin can think of anything to say and scooping up his boy from the ground.

As if this evening is about _that_.

But it does succeed in making Robin smile, genuinely this time. He is, after all, as besotted with the woman as he was when they first met, and probably just as foolish.

He even chortles as he thinks of the witty remark Regina would throw back at Will's unseemly suggestion, and just as the man is about to carry Roland over to the others, Robin calls him over warmly, and tells him, "Thanks, Will."

"Anytime, mate," the younger man replies, returning his leader's smile with one of his own.

And then he's tickling Roland and the child's bubbling laughter fills the night, chasing away any remaining demon looming in the dark.

 **::**

Regina stares at herself in the mirror, squints and stares, and stares longer, as if sheer force of will could change her appearance. (It can, in theory. She could shapeshift into any shape or form she liked, a power that had taken her many years to master, but her problem sadly can't be fixed with a simple magic trick.)

She breathes in, flicks a rebel strand of her hair behind her ear; straightens her spine, arches her back, puffs out her chest; pulls on her jacket, smooths down the wrinkles in her pants at her hips.

Her shoulders slump; a loaded exhale passes her lips.

This will have to do.

She's already tried on two different outfits, both of which have been lying in a heap atop the bed since she decided they wouldn't do. The red dress was too bold (he'd ripped it from her body in seconds last time she wore it; she doesn't want to send that type of signal tonight, no matter how much her body yearns for the tender touch of his callused fingertips), the black and white suit too formal (there was no chance of even getting close to something more if she hid away all temptations). Tugging at her current attire to get a better fit is proving frustrating and pointless, seeing she's no more time to change anyway – Henry's called her from downstairs twice now – so this… this will have to do.

The fit of the pants is a bit snug, makes her hips look uncharacteristically large, and while Robin has always appreciated the curve of her arse, she doesn't recall it ever sticking out like that. Maybe it'll put him off. She has taken on a bit of weight in the past nine weeks. All those late nights drinking with Emma had been fun, a welcome distraction from how alone she'd felt after his departure, but they'd done nothing to help her form. At least the jacket is covering her waistline, so that part of her reflection looks slim enough.

Perhaps.

If she doesn't move too much.

She sighs again.

It's stupid. She feels stupid – feels like a teenager. She's not in a competition with anyone, has got nothing to prove to Robin, could show up naked at Granny's for all he cared (wouldn't he just love _that_ ). He's got no other wife coming back from the dead and, to her knowledge, she's only got one sister, who's locked up under the hospital and won't show up to steal her boyfriend a second time. So why does she feel like such a nervous wreck? Nitpicking at every little detail she sees in the mirror the way Cora used to do.

This is not this Enchanted Forest. Mother is long dead and never coming back. Regina should know better.

"Mom?"

Henry's voice startles her from the doorway as he sneaks his head into her room. She jumps slightly and turns around, just in time to see Henry's brown eyes narrowed and studying her suspiciously.

"Are you coming?"

Willing away every last memory of Cora's criticism, Regina fixes a smile on her face and tells him, "Give me a minute, sweetheart," keeping her tone as light as she can manage. A futile attempt, she realizes soon enough; Henry has already seen right past her.

He walks right in. "Is everything all right?"

"Of course," she lies, and she must be trying too hard because he glowers at her, unimpressed, the expression making him look at least five years older than he actually is.

"Did Zelena say something to you?" he asks, eyes searching for hers, and she doesn't have to bend down for him to meet her gaze anymore. Her little prince is getting so tall. And smart, too. He knows she won't lie to his face when he looks at her like that. "You barely spoke to me when you came home."

There's no blame in his voice, only concern, still Regina drops her chin in shame, her actions from earlier replaying in her mind. Zelena had shaken her confidence. She'd spared her son naught but a quick look on her way to the bathroom as she came home. She thought she'd been subtle enough, but her odd behaviour hadn't slipped his notice. He knows her too well. She's staring at the proof of it just now, his unrelenting pupils fixed upon her own, patiently waiting for an explanation, and this is exactly the conversation she wanted to avoid.

Her lungs deflate, air leaving her throat in one achingly long exhale.

Her son presses on, "You know, whatever she told you, she's wrong."

Regina looks up at his words, and _oh_ , what she would give to have such faith. He's still looking at her like she's everything, like she makes the Earth move around the Sun and the stars shine in the sky. (Her past is ugly, filled with so much bloodshed, the darkness ever-present. Who could ever love someone like her?)

"Is this about Robin?"

His tone is quieter now, and he's approaching her slowly, one hand outstretched ready to comfort, like one would a scared animal.

Perhaps that's what she is, she thinks sadly.

But she's the mother here, and Henry shouldn't have to worry about her well-being. He's already done more than enough; it's time she act like the adult in this relationship.

"Henry," Regina scolds mildly, but he's already shaking his head, though his hand drops back to his side.

He stares her square in the eyes. "Mom, I know that look," he insists. "Something's up."

It's her turn to deny him with a quick move of her head, but then she looks at him kindly – her beautiful son, with such a big heart. "You're too young to–"

"No, I'm not," Henry cuts in, crossing his arms, and she doesn't have time to even think of a reply that he's already adding, "I know Robin hurt you," as if it was that simple.

But it's not. It's never that simple, and despite her confused feelings and jumbled up emotions as of late, Regina is quick to defend, "Robin didn't–"

"Zelena, then," Henry interjects, and well, yes, he's right on that one.

Zelena is the one to blame.

Her sister has done nothing but made her life – their lives – a living hell ever since they first went back to the Enchanted Forest. She's responsible for every heartache Regina has suffered in the last three months, from _Marian_ coming back from the dead to her most recent trickery. She truly is one of the vilest and wicked individuals Regina had ever crossed paths with, and yet...

Again, life's too messy for it to ever be that simple.

When she doesn't answer, Henry takes her silence as a sign of victory and beams at her, this look of triumph on his face she'd find adorable under any other circumstances.

Except all she can think about is how nothing will ever be the same anymore. How they can never go back to what they had. And her heart only sinks deeper and deeper in her chest, hitting the bottom of her stomach (her deeply toxic and forever empty stomach) with a hollow thud. She's a shell, empty, undeserving of anything resembling love, doomed to spend the rest of her existence looking for something that doesn't exist: her happy ending.

"Mom."

The soft timbre of Henry's voice breaks through the thick fog that has gathered around her mind and pulls her out, back to present. Back to him.

He's still looking at her with wonderment, seeing something in her only his eyes seem to catch. And then his gaze softens. "You know you're not alone, right?" he asks quietly, and the simple question leaves her stunned.

She's already forgotten.

Habits are hard to break, and she's spent so much time on her own it's easy to forget she's not, easier to think no one cares. It's a force of habit, default behaviour. Loneliness is familiar, something she knows how to deal with.

But Henry's right. She's not alone anymore. She has family now. Friends. Annoying princesses, saviours, and thieves, who will stand by her side when times get rough.

The rest of her journey doesn't have to be made alone.

Maybe, together, they can get through this.

Her eyes are suddenly wet (she's tired, so very tired, desperately needs a good night of sleep), and Henry is by her side in seconds, worried though he need not be. "What can I do to help?" he asks gingerly, coddling her.

The breath Regina lets out is shaky, but she cracks a smile, a small, tiny thing as she reaches out to cradle her son's jaw, rubs her thumb on the apple of his cheek. "Oh Henry," her voice cracks, and she pulls him into a tight hug, his arms instinctively wrapping around her as she does so, "you're already helping." And she buries her face in his neck, inhales a scent that inevitable soothes her frazzled nerves.

She feels safe here, with Henry's heart faintly but steadily thumping against her ribcage – feels like nothing can touch her.

It's wrong of her to rely on her son so much. He's young, still, and pure; his life shouldn't be shadowed by the ghosts of her own, but for this moment she'll allow it. For this one moment, she'll draw strength from his presence because she's weak and he's offering it, and she wants nothing more than to hold her son against her chest like she did when he was little.

"That doesn't make much sense," Henry points out. "I haven't done anything."

Regina can't help her chuckle, her hold on him tightening. "It will," she sniffles, her hand stroking up and down his back, a gesture that used to comfort him but that now brings her the solace she needs. "When you're older, it will."

His exasperated sigh is a welcome sound in Regina's ears, makes her laugh again, softly. She can picture the way his eyes just lifted up to the ceiling, his know-it-all attitude one he'd definitely inherited from her.

She lets go of him then, and he's giving her a once-over and nodding.

"I like the outfit," he says, and she pauses – how could he have known? "But you might want to fix your makeup," he adds, chin jerking up to indicate her eyes.

Regina swipes a finger along her lower eyelid and the digit comes out splotched with black when she brings it back in her field of vision. What a mess she must be. She's definitely not setting foot out of her house like this; she's got a reputation to uphold.

"Give me five minutes?" she requests, somewhat sheepish. They're already running late because of her, and she knows Henry's looking forward to the celebration. He always is when he gets to have both sides of the family in the same room.

But her son is kind and compassionate, and has come to read her moods better than she cares to admit. "You've got ten," he tells her, a knowing smile on his lips, and Regina's heart swells with gratefulness.

"Deal."

She returns his smile effortlessly, feels tears prickling at the corner of her eyes, born out of a far happier cause than her previous exhaustion.

And then, Henry's retreating, leaving her to finish getting ready on her own. She can't resist calling him back.

His head turns at the mention of his name, and he stands under the doorframe, the light coming from the window giving him some kind of glow, an angelic look.

He is, Regina thinks. He's her angel. Her little prince.

"Thank you," she says, and he just stares back at her, affectionate and understanding and far-too-grown-up for her taste.

"Anytime Mom."

He smiles, and Regina does too, stepping towards the bathroom to fix the state of her face.

"Oh, and Mom?" her son's voice reaches her again, and only then does she realize Henry hasn't moved a muscle. He's is still standing in her doorway and scrutinizing her to see if she's truly all right or just trying to get rid of him. (She's more than all right, she thinks. At least, for now.) "If Robin makes you happy, nothing else matters. You deserve this." And the hopeful look he gives her makes her believe that maybe she does. Maybe she does deserve this.

When he leaves, Regina looks at herself in the mirror again, and she grins – grins satisfactorily and unashamedly, feels this surge of confidence bloom inside her.

She feels good.

She feels good, and she looks good, and if a certain thief happens to have a fondness for her legs, then all the better for them to be on display in these tight leather pants.

She's going to enjoy her evening, and leave her bitterness at the door.

 **::**

Regina guides him out of Granny's intently, enticingly.

They leave behind her son, who'd briefly nodded his approval to Robin when he'd asked his mother out, and don't stop until there's at least two blocks of corner shops and small houses standing between them and the festivities.

Robin is more than happy to let her lead.

He waits until she slows them down, until they're alone before the pitch-black curtain of the night and her grip on his hand loosens. He takes that as a cue to tuck her against him, slides an arm around the small of her back and pulls her body to his, her arms wrapping around his belly when their hips knock together. If the angle is a little awkward for her, she doesn't say anything, only nestles her head between his neck and collarbone and sighs contently, leaving him to enjoy the scent of her shampoo – pomegranate, this time – and the way she fits loosely against his side. His fingers clasp her hip as he drops a kiss to her hair, sending a silent thank you to whoever has made this second chance possible.

"So," Regina starts after they've walked in companionable silence for a few minutes, "Roland is taken care of. Henry is at Granny's with the other side of his family..." She trails off, and Robin hums a _Yes?_ prompting her to continue. She tilts her chin up to look at him. "And you're stealing the Queen for yourself." He smirks. "Tell me, just what areyour intentions tonight, _thief_?" she asks, eyes sporting that flicker of playfulness that sends his heart thumping against his ribcage.

He brings them to a full stop; shifts Regina in his hold so that she's facing him, hands finding the slope of her waist under her jacket, thumb inching towards her waistband. "I thought I made it pretty clear inside just what my intentions were," he flirts outrageously, aiming for that carefree, dazzling smile she saves for when they're alone, that bares her face of any trouble currently weighing on her beautiful mind.

She's fighting it just now; he can see it in the way her jaw clenches and lips press together, gaze tense with resolve.

But he's won this round, he's confident in that. The corners of her mouth are not-so-subtly steering upward despite her best efforts.

Being the gentleman that he is, though, he amends, "Only the purest, I assure you," winking at her for good measure.

Still, she keeps on her falsely stern face, goes even as far as frowning at him. "Shame," she says, and now it's his turn to scrunch his eyebrows his confusion. She moves closer, scrapes her teeth over bottom her lip, and then whispers in that deep-toned, sultry voice of hers that stirs something inside him, "What a waste of our evening," raising a suggestive eyebrow, the slight upturn of her lips now calculated, and unmissable.

There's a pause, then, a weighted moment, where they stare at each other – a challenge to see who will crack first, and that's him. Robin can't resist a chuckle, a warm and loving breath of fresh air, followed seconds later by her own, as Regina abandons all pretence and lets affection wash over her, and _Gods_ , she's beautiful like this. How did he get so lucky? The small wrinkles at the corner of her eyes, the faint blush rosing her cheeks, the street lamps lighting her face just enough for him to make out all the details he's missed terribly. She's stunning, and the overwhelming urge to hold her close overtakes him. To feel her beating heart resting against his. To know her alive and well not only with his eyes but with every single one of his senses.

And so he does, because he can. He reaches for her and she goes willingly, into his arms as he wraps them around her shoulders, because they're togethernow, and for the first time in too long, neither of them is going anywhere.

They stay like this for the next little while, half-laughing, Robin rocking them gently, happy to just _be_ , because nothing in the last few months has felt as right as this: the simple realisation that they _can_ be together, if they want to.

But there's a reason, a mildly sad one, why Robin will only go so far this evening. He's broken her heart, and even if she'd trusted the pieces to his clumsy handling again, he intends to do right by her before this goes any further (and by her son, who's made it clear Robin was not to blunder this second chance he was given). There will be no rushing what they have. Regina will be properly wooed this time, as is befitting of the Queen that she is.

Robin pulls back from their embrace first, just enough to look at her. "I'm afraid your boy has made sure this foolish man treats his mother like the treasure she is," he tells her, and she scrunches her eyes quite adorably, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

Robin chuckles, "We had quite the interesting chat earlier."

He can see her mind speed to catch up, but when it does, she gasps in horror, "He didn't!" face falling down and red creeping up her cheeks. "Robin, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he reassures, giving her hip a light squeeze. "You've raised a wonderful boy, Regina, one who cares about you deeply. It's only understandable Henry doesn't want just any ruggedly handsome outlaw dating his beautiful," he drawls every last syllable, "wonderful," stares into the dark brown of her irises, "amazing mother." The overwhelmingly sweet praises roll off his tongue easily, and Regina makes a face like it's too much – like _he's_ too much – but makes no move to stop him.

She does, however, cock her head to the side and repeat, "Dating?" putting a stop to his string of compliments. That wasn't the part of his speech Robin thought she'd make a fuss about.

He fumbles for words, "I believe that's the term he used…" and pauses to look at her expression, but he can't decipher the frown she wears – a good thing, or a bad one? – and wonders, "Is there something wrong with it?" Maybe it was presumptuous of him to assume they'd reached the dating stage. Though to his understanding of the strange ways of this world, they'd done far more than that.

"No," she says quickly, shaking her head, "no I– I just never really thought about us as _dating_." She says the word like it's foreign to her, even after thirty odd years or so in this realm.

Robin hastens to say, "We don't _have_ to be dating if you don't want to."

Far be it from him to impose anything on her. Should they not go on dates as is customary in this world, he'll find some other way to make it up to her.

He muses out loud, "I do find it an awfully condensed view of courtship."

"So now you're _courting_ me?" she questions, and her comment makes him tense immediately.

Perhaps that wasn't the wisest thing to say.

But when their gazes meet again, her lips have tilted up, and Robin thinks yes, that's exactly what he's doing.

He keeps going, leaning his shoulder into hers, "What else would you call this moonlight stroll?" They're not strolling, haven't been for a while, but that had been his intention before she distracted him with conversation.

A mischievous gleam appears in her eyes and she closes part of the distance between them, too, breasts brushing against his chest as she ghosts her lips over his jaw, gossamer touches that send a jolt of electricity down his body.

Robin tenses again, for a completely different reason.

So much for being a gentleman.

Her body is so tantalizingly close, a nightmare to resist, and she only stops moving when her mouth has reached his ear, though he's been riveted to this very spot ever since she started inching forward.

He can feel her intake of breath on his skin as she parts her lips, her tone low and sultry when she whispers, " _Foreplay_ ," and then she pulls back, lips barely grazing his stubble as she goes back the way she came.

Robin doesn't let her go far, wraps his arms tighter around her frame before she's had a chance to pull away completely.

"You are a devious woman," he tells her, and he can feel her thigh pressing against his half-hard member – a fact he'd be ashamed of if she didn't look so smug.

He watches her eyes dance with mirth, her hands stroking his sides until they're clasped behind his back. "What are you going to do about it?" she asks, bumping her hips against his, and that's it.

Screw propriety.

He's going to snog her.

He's going to snog her right here, right now, if it is the last thing he does.

There's no author around, no one to prevent him from tasting her, from eagerly running his tongue against the seam of her lips, and so he does, captures her upper lip and sucks gently, weaving his fingers into her hair. Delicious sounds leave her throat as he moves his mouth against her, moans that shoot straight to his belly.

He wants to get reacquainted with her taste, with her scent, with every sensation rippling through his body at her presence.

So he presses her close with his free hand, breaks contact once to gasp for air, and dives right back in.

 **::**

Regina lets him take control of the kiss.

Her head falls back, lips parting willingly when his tongue runs along the edges, and a moan escapes her throat, low and wanting. Their tongues tangle, slide one against the other in long-awaited caresses that have her thighs pressing together, searching for any kind of friction where she's already wet and aching for his touch. God, it's been so long.

If it wasn't for the empty street, she'd feel ashamed of the display they're currently putting on for the world to see, but then Robin is pulling back slightly, swiping his tongue against her top lip, and all senses of public decency effectively leave her.

If there's someone spying on them around the corner instead of enjoying the free food at Granny's, let them enjoy the show.

Robin moves away from her lips then, kisses the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her nose, making his way to the other cheek before capturing her mouth anew. Her hands fist at the collar of his jacket, bringing him even closer. She wants more, wants him, but his ministrations also spark something new, a feeling she hasn't experienced in a very long time. A giddiness builds up in her, and she can't help it, she giggles, the sound breaking free between little pecks of his lips, before he shuts her up once more, another tongue-filled kiss that sends small jolts of pleasure through her body, has her panting and riled up like some horny teenager.

When finally their need for oxygen outweighs their need for each other, their lips part with a wet smack, breaths uneven and gazes fixed upon each other.

It's as if a fire's been ignited inside him, flames of passion dancing in his eyes, and Regina feels like she might topple over from the mere intensity of his gaze. Their deep blue reminds her of the ocean, of nature and freedom and things that were long denied to her. Things that are now hers to grasp and take.

"I've wanted to do that since you showed up at my apartment last night," he tells her at last, still out of breath. His gaze flicks down to her lips, and she licks them self-consciously, her own eyes zeroing in on his mouth.

She finds that, despite their heated exchange, there's still a bitter comment at the tip of her tongue – call it self-preservation.

Even if Robin has done nothing that warrants her anger, Regina's reflexes kick in. She momentarily forgets that Zelena has manipulated him from the start, that he's been tricked in the worst of ways, and when she asks, "Even with Marian about to come back from the store?" there's an unmistakable sharp edge to her tone.

And she doesn't feel the least bad about it.

Not at first, anyway.

Robin tenses at the mention of his dead wife, takes a step back from her, and the shift in the air is palpable; a cold shower couldn't have done a better job at stopping their raging hormones.

She's completely ruined their evening.

Robin's retracting into himself, this whole Marian-Zelena business burning heavy with both resentment and guilt, and it's her fault. Her own messed-up emotions meddling with her ability to view the situation objectively. (It'd been the same with Zelena; her sister had known exactly which buttons to push to send her into a downward spiral. And it seems, she knows Robin's.)

She should have been more tactful.

Rationally, she knows Robin isn't to blame for their current predicament. She's not heartless.

But she's not _heartless_ either; she feels. She feels every damn emotion she has no right to feeling – she doesn't _want_ to be feeling – like the flare of jealousy that had launched through her spine at the thought of Robin indulging in the body of another woman the way he's just been enjoying hers.

Be it Marian or Zelena or anyone else he could have fancied during those nine weeks, the image of someone taking her place leaves a sour taste in her mouth.

She'd told him to move on, expected him to, but he wasn't supposed to come back when she'd said it. It'd been goodbye. Forever. Not _see you in nine weeks_.

And now he's here, and she should be elated – she _is_. She wasn't lying when she'd said they'd be dealing with this together, but the situation isn't as happy as she'd made it seem in front of Henry. (This is hers and Robin's problem to deal with. She won't let it affect her son's mood. That, she's adamant on.) She has scars that run deep, wounds that will take more than a few kisses to heel, and her sister has set up the perfect plan to rub salt into them.

A few weeks. Three? Four at the most. That's all it'd taken Robin to sleep with _her._

To get her _pregnant._

The child he's going to have with someone else (as if she even could give him that) already poisons her mind with visions of a happy family that doesn't include her.

"She wasn't Marian."

Robin breaks the thick silence that has settled between them with few words – an explanation or an excuse, Regina doesn't know. (They're grasping at straws, slipping away, failing to connect. This isn't going to work.)

His eyes, though – his eyes tell her of how revolting the mere thought of intimacy with Zelena is to him, the exact same way it disgusts her.

"But you thought she was."

She doesn't mean the reply to be cutting, but there's a distinctive accusation in her tone, one that has Robin lower his gaze, eyes darkened with a fresh layer of pain, gulping down the lump in his throat.

Regina lets her lashes fall shut, the sight of him deflated and resigned a hard one to watch. She bites her tongue until it bleeds, berating herself for speaking before thinking. Mother had always said it'd get her in trouble.

It'd been going so well. Just the two of them and the moonlight and kisses that left her breathless. It's what she'd wanted for tonight, couldn't have asked for a better evening, and she had to go and destroy it all.

It seems the only thing she can do without fault is hurt the ones she cares about.

She'd just died; she doesn't have the strength, nor the heart for an argument tonight. She just wants _him_ , if only her mind would shut up and let her tell him just how much.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't hav–"

He kisses her. Desperately, frantically, passionately – he kisses her.

Regina freezes, confused and stunned, body refusing to obey her commands.

It isn't until Robin breathes his answer in a fraught _yes_ against her lips ( _yes, he would have kissed her even with Marian about to come back_ is what he means _)_ , raw with honesty and bleeding with pain, that she kisses him back – fully, ardently, heatedly.

His hands wander to her backside, hers move up to his neck, and she grinds her hips against his, a whimper escaping his throat at the contact. It makes him bolder, has one of his hands stroking its way to her front, thumb brushing her hardened nipple through the fabric of her shirt, and she wishes for less layers, wants nothing between them but their respective flesh.

They're breathing heavy within seconds, and Regina contemplates poofing them elsewhere, away from prying eyes, but something suddenly tickles at her senses.

Something magical.

Robin must sense the shift in her behaviour because he breaks the kiss, looking at her questioningly, before he hears it, too, and duplicates her frown.

Voices. Whispers.

They're everywhere, dark, hunting, carried to their ears by the cold night wind.

One glance between them is all they need. Hands loosen their grip and shirts are fixed. A few minutes is all they need to head towards the noise, unaware of the fresh new hell that's been released from its prison.

 **::**

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Robin sees his world collapse around him.

This doomed destiny of theirs, he's starting to feel it to his very core.

Gone are Regina's smiles and caresses, lost like her being to the tornado of Dark One's unleashed form. Robin's not sure he understands the magic behind what's happening, but he frankly doesn't care – doesn't care about anything or anyone else other than the woman who's currently fighting for her life against the darkest of powers.

He shouldn't have let go.

Less than a minute ago, she'd been in his arms, happy, carefree, kisses sealing promises they were too scared to speak out loud. They'd bury their demons as they'd do everything from now on, together, but this stolen moment in the middle of the street had been their only respite.

They are back to being the pawns of destiny, Regina its ultimate favourite toy.

He sees the resignation on her face. She believes she deserves this. That she'd been wrong to be happy, to hope. She's trapped in the darkness again, and no one is moving to help her. No one should.

It's that thought alone – his desire to make her feel cared for and cherished and _important_ – that gives Robin enough courage to charge into the inferno. No matter how dangerous it is, he won't stand idly by and watch the woman he loves die for the second time today.

The darkness hurls him across the street before he can reach her.

He crashes to the pavement, gets the wind knocked out of him, head solidly hitting the ground.

Robin feels like he's going to be sick. He can't move, has to wait for the nausea to recede before he can look up. When he does, the sight that meets his eyes has his heart sinking in his chest.

Regina is struggling, fighting, and _losing_.

This can't be happening, he thinks with horror. Not again. Not her.

But then Emma is moving forward, taking center stage, and she's better armed for this task than he'd been. She succeeds where he'd failed, and Regina is back in his arms.

Safe.

But at what cost?

 **::**

She's caught in the eye of the storm.

The darkness engulfs her, swallows her whole. Now that it's found its next victim, it won't let her go. She knows – she knows because she's stood at its mercy before.

It's an old friend of hers, the darkness. Her insides have been charred by its inferno, her heart turned to coal by its sickening presence many a moon ago. It's only a matter of time before she ends up like her former mentor, with poison so deeply ingrained in her heart she'll have no chance of ever being saved.

He'd warned her, Rumplestiltskin. He'd told her the darkness was a part of who she was, of who she'd always be. No amount of good deeds or innocents saved could change what was rotting on the inside. She'd been chosen, and it was too late to turn back.

Sometimes, Regina wonders why she even bothers trying.

Her eyes drift to Robin on the other side of the swirl, and she thinks maybe this is better. She never truly deserved him, this thief with a heart of gold that had shared her burdens when no one else would look at her – her thief, infuriatingly courageous and imperfect, but _hers_.

He'd bruised her heart (she wouldn't deny it if asked; she still had a fresh wound to prove it), but he'd kept it safe. He'd held it, all dark and toxic, and he'd sworn to protect it.

It's all she would have ever asked of him, to keep his intentions pure, to act from the heart.

And now, he'll never know. He'll never know what he means to her. She'll leave him, and Robin's last memory of her will be thinking he's failed her, when all he's ever done is help her feel at home.

He's staring right back at her.

The cerulean blue of his irises is poignant in the monochrome landscape that's becoming Storybrooke, a last spark of colour in a world where everything is slowly fading to a grayscale. He's poised to act, ready to fight, calling her to him with a silent plea, but even their soulmate connection can't seem to break through the barrier that separates them.

He wears a mask of horror on his face; looks frightened, terrified.

Regina isn't.

She's been expecting this.

She was happy.

For half a second, maybe less, she's allowed herself to be happy, to feel loved, and fate had felt it necessary to course correct. Because Regina Mills can't be happy.

She feels small, and weak. The voices keeping her down are back in full rage, more powerful than ever, keeping her rooted on the spot, caught in the whirlwind of her own darkness.

Cora. Zelena. Rumple.

There's no room for Henry's or Robin's in her mind; corruption is everywhere, screaming in her ears, blocking her vision. All she can think about through the noise is how she's let everyone down. How she always lets everyone down.

She's not mother material. Not alone. She should have listened to Cora, should have had a son while she was Queen. Someone would have raised him for her, and Zelena wouldn't have been a threat if she'd kept her royal status. If she hadn't let heroes sway her into the light, her life would have been be better. Undisrupted. Unburdened.

Rumple's right. For some people, happy endings don't exist; they have to be taken.

 _How could Robin ever love someone like you?_

He shouldn't.

Regina spies him moving in the corner of her eye. He's agitated, talking to someone – Emma, he's talking to Emma – but she can't make out the words, can only stare in defeat as he refuses to hear reason and runs to her, only to be thrown across the street by the powers that imprison her. _Robin!_ she wants to yell, but she's still shackled to her memories, still trapped in the darkest corner of her mind.

She's the darkness' next meal. There's no stopping it.

She gasps.

Her ribcage constricts around her lungs, and she spits out air in rough coughs, probably damaging her throat as he tries to hold on to the last few remnants of light she possesses. (It's no use. It's all gone. All of it. Every filament snatched away from her one by one.)

Emma approaches. Regina catches sight of her in her peripheral vision, dagger in hand, and– _No. No, she can't._

Regina knows where this is going before her friend has even uttered a word, and she won't have it. Even through the shadows of the Dark One's energy, the Savior is bathed in white, as if the darkness _knows_ , as if it's mocking her, wants her to watch the destruction of the purest of magic, and Regina can't let it – won't let it.

That light can't go out.

That light is too pure. That light is the very reason they're here. If it gets taken over, they won't survive. _She_ won't survive. Once the darkness has chosen its victims, it never lets them go. They can believe themselves free, but it's always there, lurking, waiting for the right moment to strike again. (And if Emma dies, that light that follows her becomes Regina's burden to bear, and she can't do it. She's no Savior. She's not Emma.)

"Emma, NO!" Her voice cooperates this time, but it's already too late. The blonde's inherited her stubbornness from two of the of most pain in the ass individuals Regina has ever met, and there's no changing her mind once it's made up.

The dagger glints under the streetlight, and plunges into the darkness.

Regina is forced to take two steps back and watch, to stare, powerless, as the energy starts its descent onto Emma. _Too late._ _She's too late._

Her eyes flick to Robin, looking back at her with mixed feelings of relief and dread, and her feet carry her to safety, into two strong arms that wrap tightly around her body as soon as she's within reach. He's solid and warm, everything that the darkness is not. His chin rests atop her shoulder as he tightens his hold on her, mouth next to her ear when he whispers her name – a thank you, to whichever Gods are watching over them.

Regina curses them. Almost pushes Robin away because of it.

After everything they've been through, she should be relieved, too.

She doesn't know how.

Emma is giving up her own happiness to make sure she gets to keep hers, and it's a sacrifice Regina can't take. She's not worth it. The Evil Queen is not worth it. Everyone could tell her that – why doesn't she just listen? Her heart is already tainted black, smeared with violence and rage. A little more darkness wouldn't have hurt her.

She needs to get away – tries to. One step forward only lands her right back into Robin's embrace, his arms restricting her movements. He tugs her back against his chest, gasping a strained and tenuous, "No," right beside her ear.

There's a plea in his voice, a lick of hypocrisy, for her to stay close to him, to not run head first into the tornado like he did. Like Emma did.

He's shaking.

Regina hadn't realized until then, the darkness had obscured her thoughts, but the Robin standing beside her isn't all presumptuous and confident like she's known him to be.

He's greedy.

Like any human who's hurting, he's putting himself above others, clings to her as if she might disappear any moment, as if letting go for one second could be their downfall. (It almost was.) They've lost each other so many times, who's to say this isn't it?

He needs her, too. It hadn't occurred to her just how much so before now. (And what could she do to save Emma when she was already gone?)

She presses back into Robin's chest and hears his sigh of relief. She'd already died in his arms once today. It was probably enough.

She doesn't attempt to leave again, drapes her arms over his across her stomach as they stand and watch, _together_ , as the darkness engulfs one of their own. A good person.

A hero.

Silence greets them like an old friend.

The dagger plummets to the ground.

Minutes ago, she'd been gleefully kissing Robin, not even a block away, his hands hovering inappropriately over her body. Now, she feels numb. Adrift. Empty.

Victory has a bitter taste on her tongue. (It's not victory. They've lost. They've lost a great deal today and for once, it hadn't been solely hers to lose.)

If this is the cost of happiness, Regina wants nothing of it.

* * *

 _A/N: My apologies for the wait between chapters. Life is crazy busy. I'm afraid I can't promise things will go any faster because I just started working a second job. Sadly, fanfiction doesn't pay bills._


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